


Harry Potter and the Knight of Mann

by Irish_Ghost



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (but later in the story), (but not quite yet), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Neville, BAMF Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore Bashing, Gen, Knights - Freeform, Magical Cultures, No Horcruxes, Powerful Harry, Slow Build, Weasley Bashing, transfer student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:33:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4898659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irish_Ghost/pseuds/Irish_Ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: It's fifth year for Harry, and there's a transfer student joining the ranks of Hogwarts. Little is known about where she comes from. Some wonder if she is dark. Others wonder why she is here. The only thing for sure: no one will forget these years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Work is Mann

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, readers! This is my first fan-fiction to this site. I've cross-posted this story with my FFN account. It will be different, as I am reviewing and updating the story, since it's been a few years since I wrote this. 
> 
> No notes so far... Please enjoy! Any comments, positive or negative are welcome. I'll do my best to get back to everyone. 
> 
> (Bonus: the chapter titles are from Shakespearean plays. If anyone recognizes them, please drop me a comment!)

The primal roar of thunder, the white-hot dance of lightning, and a torrential downpour rolled out all night against the stormy landscape. This was the scene as Harry Potter walked into the Great Hall of Hogwarts for the Welcoming Feast of his fifth year. In truth, the storm was a numbing balm for the agonizing drought of self-doubt and guilt that he had suffered through all summer long. He had so many things to think of, and not all of them weighed easy on his mind.

The train ride from King’s Cross Station was lacking, to say the least. Hermione and Ron had to attend a Prefects’ meeting in a different compartment, leaving him alone for a while. They were not in a mood, really, to talk with him. After writing no letters to him all summer, they were barely interested in filling him in after his arrival to Grimmauld Place. Instead, they wanted to learn more (whether they were allowed to or not) about the going-ons in the kitchen meetings. When the Prefect letters arrived, they moved farther away from him still. Harry wondered why this was so, if they were such friends that they had claimed to be. Harry didn't bother going after them, demanding answers. It was far too much effort, and he would still be in the dark.

At least Neville joined up with him to keep him company, but he was more concerned with taking cautious care of the strange-looking cactus on his lap. They had a nice conversation about Herbology, but only a quick _Protego_ charm saved him from the plant's self-defence mechanism. Poor Neville was drenched in the foul-smelling sap. Luckily, they both knew the  _Scourify_ charm to clean up the mess. After that little incidence, Harry began to brood.

This summer had been one of the worst in his personal history, and he had had quite a few bad summers before. Not only was he dealing with the death of Cedric Diggory and the return of Lord Voldemort and his part in both, but he also had to deal with the Wizengamot and Fudge’s unwillingness to accept that Voldemort was back. He did cast magic in front of a Muggle (namely, his pig cousin), but he had cause. Two Dementors coming to attack him? It should have been a clear-cut case of self-defence, but nothing was clear-cut anymore, not when it involved him. Anyone would have agreed with him at any other time, but now he was a ‘lunatic’ and an ‘attention-seeking prat’. No one was on his side now. Fudge and the Daily Prophet saw to that, with their incessant smear campaigns against him and Dumbledore.

However, most of the Wizengamot seemed to side with him when he managed to tell his side of the story, at least once it was corroborated by Mrs. Figg. Madam Bones seemed fair, and did not seem to appreciate Fudge’s slack-jawed laziness when it came to pursuing legal correctness. He saw her spine prickle at the slid in comment that Fudge could change the laws whenever he wanted to suit the Ministry. Fudge seemed more interested in pursuing his political agenda in reassuring the wizarding populace that they were safe and that they had nothing to worry about, than actually making sure that measures were taken to keep them safe.

Dumbledore was not much help in the trial: he was in and out like a flash flood. He came in, spoke his piece, waited for the sentence, and then left without saying a word or even looking at Harry. He did not understand any of it. Any letters that he attempted to send to Dumbledore were sent back unopened. There was no point anymore, Harry thought to himself. Dumbledore was not talking to him, and they both had other concerns to worry about.

Harry had gotten used to sleeping lightly and less this summer, so that he didn't wake his relatives with his nightmares. Cedric's face, stark in death, kept playing over and over in his mind. Voldemort's voice, silky and snake-like, slithered through his dreams as they repeated their duel nightly. Sometimes, Harry won. Other times, Harry watched from on high as his body laid on the ground in the Riddle graveyard, the Dark Mark rising over his cold body. Sweat would be pouring down his face every time he woke, out of breath and reaching for the Cup. He would be up for a few hours, trying to get back to sleep again with little luck most times. 

At least there was some good this summer. He was introduced to the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s little gang of Light-sided wizards and witches that tried to fight against Voldemort and his cadre of Death Eaters. That was some hope: many of the members seemed to be Aurors or at least had some battle experience. And he got to see his dog-father again.

Sirius was looking much better now that he had a home and a steady diet of something other than rats and the small things he could smuggle to Hogsmeade for him. He extracted the promise out of Sirius to write more during the school year, and not just for emergencies. Still, to be imprisoned in the same place without anywhere safe to flee into for the sake of being himself… Harry could relate to that most easily. He was still a prisoner to the Dursleys during the summer break. But at least within the stone walls of Hogwarts, he was free to be himself.

However, even that little good was tainted with strangeness. The behaviour of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, when he was around them, made him ponder what exactly it was they were hiding from him. Mrs. Weasley, as per usual, smothered him in motherly love and food but she was still treating him like a child. Moody had tried to stop Sirius from telling him something about some kind of a weapon that Voldemort was after. Even Lupin, his most favourite ex-teacher from Hogwarts and former Marauder, was pushing him aside and telling him nothing. Only his dog-father treated him like his age, and like the one that had seen Voldemort return. Well, there was some good this summer, if little enough.

Harry looked up to the Head Table, watching Dumbledore sit there on his throne before looking around the Gryffindor table. It stung that he was stuck on the outside of this fight, especially when it had a large part to do with him. Dumbledore must have had some reason to conceal it from him, but it hurt when he wanted to fight with everyone else. Professor McGonagall was missing as well, as per usual: she was with the first years in the entrance of the Great Hall, waiting for bring them in. Hagrid was missing; where was he? His face fell as he saw Umbridge sitting among the teachers, the same old toady from the Wizengamot that considered him guilty: that meant nothing good. Snape was his usual grumpy and surly self, glaring out at the crowd of students. At least, some things will never change.

As he sat down next to Hermione and Ron, it was like magic when McGonagall led the first years in. There was a big crowd this year: there were maybe forty-five or fifty little frightened children walking down the hall. They looked so vulnerable, so innocent. He barely paid attention to the Sorting Hat’s Song, or the Sorting ceremony that followed; it never changed year after year. It was a new song, new students, and new reasons to keep up the discord between Houses… It may be a new year, but it was the same old stuff. However, this year, Harry was wrong.

After the Sorting, Dumbledore stood up but he did not signal for the feast to begin. “Now that everyone is Sorted and seated, I have a special announcement before the feast can begin.” Harry, and probably half the hall, heard Ron groan and his stomach grumble. Hermione jabbed him in the side with her elbow, keeping him quiet for a while.

Dumbledore continued with his speech, that everlasting twinkle in his eye as if he had not been interrupted. “This year, we are pleased to be the host to a transfer student from the _Reeoil Armee Scoill_ on the Isle of Man. This is the first such time that anything like this has happened in over three hundred years. It is the first step in beginning new relationships with our old friend, after decades of stagnation. The student will be considered a fifth-year and will study here as long as her professors deem it prudent. In addition, she will be Sorted tonight. Please, help me to welcome… Airmed Wolfshead!”

The doors to the Great Hall opened, but there was no nervous student waiting to enter. Instead, a massive grey wolf ran into the hall between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. There were some squeals of fear and confusion as the wolf ran past them, but even more as the wolf transformed flawlessly into a peregrine falcon and flew over the tables in lazy circles. Higher and higher it flew until it transformed once more. Screams of terror filled the hall as a miniature Hebridean Black dragon flew close to the ceiling. The creature made a dive halfway above the tables, before pointing its maw above the students and roaring a stream of vivid sapphire fire. As the dragon flew lower, people saw that the fire was suspended above their heads in a crest of some kind: three armoured legs connected at the hip, surrounded by a wolf, a falcon, and a dragon. Below the crest was a motto, but it was written in a different language than Latin: _Cúr Treisht Ayn Ayd Wappin._

The dragon gave one final roar before falling towards the staff table. It transformed once more, this time into a girl. Performing a perfect somersault, she landed flawlessly on the stairs in front of the staff table on one knee, her head slightly bowed. There was no motion out of place, no wasted energy. The whispers were in full force now as everyone tried to catch a look at the mysterious transfer student that knelt in front of them.

Harry’s eyes grew wide at the sight of her. From what he could see from his seat in the middle of the hall, she was dressed in some kind of armour. Her arms were covered in chainmail, like something right out of the Middle Ages. The chainmail was covered by some kind of long tunic dyed blue-black belted around her waist. The sleeves reached her elbows, preventing it from becoming snagged in the mail. There was a silver wolf’s head sewn on to the back, snarling at all that looked at it. From where Harry was sitting, he spied thick gloves tucked into the belt beside a leather pouch of sorts and a wand holster. The mail ended above her knees, where everyone saw some kind of thickly quilted cotton breeches above black leather boots. Her headpiece was pushed back to reveal pure white hair braided tightly to her head and some kind of scar on her neck; he could not make it out from where he was sitting.

But it was what she was carrying that made the whispers increase as she simply knelt there. She was armed. On her belt near her hip was a quiver of arrows. At her side, with her hand resting on its pommel, was a broadsword sheathed in an obviously well used leather scabbard. Across her back was a quarterstaff with a wicked-looking axe head at the end and a long leather tube showing an unstrung bow. From simply looking at her, Harry got the impression that they were not just for show: she knew how to use these weapons.

As soon as that thought crossed his mind, the strange new student stood up, hardly making a sound as the mail crinkled with her movements. A new thought crossed his mind: this girl was used to the chainmail that she wore. But why would she be? Considering how different the wizarding world was from the Muggle world, why would she be used to such an archaic method of protection, even by the standards of the wizarding world?

The new student, Airmed Wolfshead, bowed before the Head Table and walked towards Professor McGonagall as she stood by the stool and the Sorting Hat. She broke tradition at this point. Instead of sitting on the stool and letting Professor McGonagall place the Hat on her head, she simply grabbed the Hat from the stool and placed it on her own head. Her back was facing the student body, not showing her expression or her facial features. The Hall was quiet once more as they waited for the results of the transfer student’s Sorting. It did not take long, at least not longer than most normal Sorting times. The Hat yelled out from its ripped seam, “GRYFFINDOR!” The tables began to cheer as she turned around, but the cheering soon died out as they got their first real look at the transfer student.

Marring her patrician features was a massive scar running down from the middle of her hairline, through her left eyebrow and eye itself, and ending just below her cheekbone; the inside of her eye socket, Harry saw as she walked closer to him, looked like it had been scraped clean of all remnants of her eye, leaving her only a hollow cavity. It looked old and she did not seem to notice the staring, but it did not hide the fact that she was missing one of her eyes. Her other eye was a deep blue, almost the same colour as the Ravenclaw banner. Her pink lips and small mouth were grinning as she walked without a care to the Gryffindor table and stood behind Harry.

“Is this seat taken?” She pointed to the spot next to him on his right side. Her voice was deep, like listening to the roar of the ocean’s waves. It was also heavily accented, but it was difficult to place where the accent came from. It could have been Irish, but there was more emphasis on the gruffness in her voice that could have been Scottish. The combination made for a no-nonsense tone and pitch.

“Not at all.” Harry nodded to her as she stood between him and Neville. She withdrew her wand and moved it over her tunic she transformed her tunic, making it change from blue-black into red with a golden salient lion across her torso.

As soon as she sat down, Neville nodded to her and passed her a water-filled goblet, addressing her as “Milady”. Accepting the goblet and taking a small sip from it, she nodded back to him and called him “Sir”. No word was spoken as she looked back to the Head Table. Once more, the hall burst out into whispers. The new student sat next to Crazy Boy Potter and Longbottom? What was she thinking? And what was the deal with the goblet?

Dumbledore stood up once more, this time giving the signal for the feast. The tables groaned under the weight of the food, and the gleam in Airmed’s eyes was clue enough that she was famished. She was quiet as Harry introduced her to Ron and Hermione, but mostly eating her way through two full plates of food. She was hungry enough to eat a dragon by herself, but she reprimanded herself into using the utensils there and being polite as she ate. Some of the boys looked at her incredulously as she drank back an entire goblet of water without stop, before refilling it and drinking more. What was wrong with her? They talked about her well within her hearing range, but they did not actually talk to her.

Neville was the first to speak out loud to her when she was finished drinking. "Airmed, it is an honor and pleasure to meet you. I am Neville Longbottom, and I welcome you to Hogwarts." Neville's formal tone took Harry by surprise, but it was his confidence that shocked Harry more. Gone was the stuttering stumbling fourth-year: Neville looked comfortable in his skin. It suited him.

Airmed smiled back at him, offsetting the scar on his face. "It is a pleasure to be here, Neville Longbottom. If this is the usual fare I must be careful, or else I will become accustomed to such luxury." That made them both laugh, and Harry chuckled along with them. True, eating off gold plates was off-putting for those definitely not used to it.

Neville looked around the table quickly. "You have met Harry, Ron, and Hermione. This is Seamus Finnegan, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and Dean Thomas. The Weasley twins further down are Fred and George, but I can't tell who from who." Airmed laughed a little more. As Airmed took in the names and faces, she committed them all to memory as best as she could. 

Finally, one of the first years left their seat and walked up to her, his face turning all colours of red as he forced himself to keep walking. She saw him coming out of the corner of her eye; Euan Abercrombie was his name, if she remembered correctly. He tugged at her tunic and nearly wet himself as she turned and looked at him with a curious look on her face. “Yes, little one?” She placed her utensils back on the table, turning to step off the bench. She knelt on one knee before him so that she was eye level with him.

“Why… why do you wear this?” He tugged on her tunic again. It looked adorable: the sheer hero-worship on his face was evident to everyone around the pair. 

The Gryffindors heard something remarkable coming from her as she closed her eye and laughed, a smile decorating her face. It seemed so out of place: a hardened and scarred warrior laughing like Father Christmas. “Because, little Euan, where I come from, we have a proud history of Knights that fight for our country. I am one of them. However, I was given orders to come to Hogwarts, to learn about your people and culture. That’s why I’m here.” No one saw how her face dropped for a moment, but she quickly pulled her composure back together before people took notice.

Everyone was surprised when she stood and, holding Euan’s hand, walked him back to his seat. Once he was seated amongst his fellow first-years, she whispered something into his ear that made him smile so brightly and hug her. She was gentle as she wrapped her mail-covered arms around the little boy and let him relax. She would never let him come to harm; that much was obvious to all onlookers present. Letting go of the hug, she ruffled his hair and walked back to sit down amongst the fifth-years.

"What did you tell him, Airmed?" Seamus turned to her.

"I told him that I would always answer his questions, and help him if I can." The one-eyed glance was warm for now. 

For herself, Airmed was glad to be sitting: she was sore all over. The flight here from Mann was long enough for her in her dragon form in normal weather, but it was thundering and raining all over this accursed island. She landed at the Hosgmeade Station just as the last students were loaded onto Thestral-drawn carriages, the rain pouring down on her without any end in sight. Thankfully, she had charmed her armour, her weapons, and her clothes to be weather-resistant during her training. This simple runic charm had saved her purse many times from having to replace her armour constantly. Otherwise, she would have had to spend hours getting all of the rust out of her chainmail.She had to run up the path, her trunk shrunken in the leather pouch on her belt, and had made it into the monstrosity of a castle just as the doors were closing. As such, she was hungry, thirsty, and tired.

Young Euan, he whose name means ‘little and swift one’, made her smile with his young antics. He was innocent of all that she had had to face over the years. Hopefully, it would remain so for a few years yet. He reminded her of home, of... no, they were not the same person, no matter how much she wished it to be. 

Dessert passed by, and she took nothing save a few pieces of fruit to nibble on. Conn had told her to expect a speech after the feast from Dumbledore, and he was not wrong in that sense. Yet again, Dumbledore stood from his seat and began to speak. “Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start of term notices. First-years, and our new guest, should know that the Forbidden Forest in the grounds is out of bounds to all students- as should a few of our older students.” Airmed frowned slightly: that could prove problematic for her training in the mornings. But she would solve that problem tomorrow, when she had time to explore the grounds.

“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, as well as a whole list of things which can be found nailed to Mr. Filch’s door. “We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons until Hagrid returns from his leave; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” Applause was nice and brief at this point; Airmed could see that most everyone was anxious to get into bed and go to sleep against the sounds of the rolling thunderstorm.

That was not going to happen any time soon. “Hem-hem.” Someone had cleared her throat from the staff table. Airmed peered and saw that Professor Umbridge was standing up and had intended to make a speech of her own. Dumbledore looked perplexed, but only for a moment. Being a true gentleman, he sat down and motioned for Madam Umbridge to say her words.

Airmed lost all respect for Professor Umbridge when she saw that god-awful pink cardigan that nearly burned her eyes out. Such a colour, never seen on the Isle of Man, was only worn by women so secure in their role as women that they never saw fit to defend their country; either that, or by women that tended to stay at home and cook and clean. Either way, she was no fighter. Her voice was simpering and high-pitched as she went on about how they will all be friends by the end of the term, grating on Airmed’s tired ears. Still, she put an attentive mask on her face and listened to the sale-pitch.

“The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations, lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.” At that moment, Umbridge’s cheery face fell for a moment as she glared at the newcomer, before perking up.

Well, that was good to know. This Umbridge character had it out for those not of British lines. Airmed nodded, remembering what Conn had told her. It was ancient history for these students, but the Isle of Man had never been a part of the United Kingdom, magical or mundane. Instead, they were a small sovereignty unto their own self-governance.

Airmed had learned much in recent days of the inefficiency of the British Ministry of Magic, especially under the most recent leader. Such a blundering fool was this Cornelius Fudge, constantly making foolish mistakes to the detriment of his people. It was lucky that Mann was a sovereign nation; for that much, she was thankful.

Airmed’s eyes narrowed at the next part of the speech. “Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress’ sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation must be found.

“While some changes may be for the better, others will, in the fullness of time, come to be recognized as errors in judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn (again, a glare at Airmed and her armour), must be abandoned. Let us move forwards, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting was needs to be perfected, and pruning whenever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

The hall was silent at the end of the speech. No one even noticed when Dumbledore stood up and finished the announcements. Harry looked beside him at Airmed, wanting to tell her that this was not a normal year. All he saw was the fist resting on the table, white-knuckled from tension. Harry decided against that course of action. He would prefer to remain whole, and that broadsword at her side was not exactly inspiring the most encouraging response.

Airmed simply stared blankly at the staff table, listening with one ear to the rest of the announcements and trying not to show any reaction to Umbridge’s speech. She knew that her fists were curled tightly, one on the table well within the reach of the slightly sharp eating knife and the other resting on her legs. She had to remind herself to breathe in and out, calmly and quietly, or else she would have thrown that knife right at the heart of that damned woman.

Well, one thing was for sure. This year was going to be interesting, to say the least.


	2. The Death of Every Day's Life

After Madam Umbridge finished her speech, Dumbledore finally gave the signal for dismissal at the end of his announcements. Airmed quietly got to her feet and looked around, following the crowd of red-and-gold out of the hall and into the inner workings of this megalith. Her eyes darted around, tracking hallways and passages. She wanted to learn the basic layout before the end of the week, not just where her classes would be.

She recognized the frizzy brown hair of one of the people that she had been introduced to during the feast: Hermione Granger. She and that obnoxiously red-haired young man were gathering the first years together, with the obvious intent of leading them to the dormitories. Well, what better way to find your way in a foreign place than to follow the crowd? Technically, she could be classified as a first year student; this was her first time in Hogwarts, regardless of her studies back on Mann.

Airmed walked as quietly as she could, her chainmail making a fair amount of noise as she walked up at twenty flights of stairs, each flight consisting of thirty-five steps, before coming to the entrance to the tenth floor. She listened to the crowds around her as she followed the Gryffindor first-years through a series of hallways to a tower entrance. It was guarded by a portrait of an extraordinarily fat woman garbed, once again, in that hideous colour of pink. There would be no way that she would not remember this portrait.

Hermione stopped in front of the portrait and addressed the people gathered around her. “This is the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Remember this portrait, because there are many portraits in this castle and not all of them are willing to help out lost students. You must also remember the password, for it will be changed every three weeks. Without it, you cannot gain admission into the common room or the dormitories.” Turning back to the portrait, she spoke once more. “ _Mimbulus mimbletonia_.”

The woman in the portrait moved, nodding to the shocked first years. Airmed cocked an eyebrow. It wasn't the strangest thing that she had ever seen. The portrait hinged open to reveal a passageway through what appeared to be solid stone wall. Airmed walked in last as the first-years looked around in awe at the opulent red-and-gold decorations around them, the plush chairs and couches situated near a roaring fire, and the antique portraits around them. Their occupants were talking amidst themselves at the new additions to Gryffindor House. Airmed noticed that there were three large tables, also surrounded by comfortable chairs, which were most likely used for school assignments or social interaction. This was a comfortable, if not a little too ostentatious, meeting room.

Hermione gathered attention to herself, the redheaded boy at her side puffing out his chest before glaring over the new students. “Welcome to the Gryffindor Common Room. Now, the boy’s dorms are at the top of the left staircase, and the girl’s dorms are at the top of the right staircase. Professor McGonagall will be in shortly to make a speech to you all, so please find a place to sit and relax for a moment.” The two prefects sat near the fireplace as the first years spread out.

Euan looked across the common room and smiled at Airmed as she walked towards the wall nearest to the girl’s staircase. He watched her sigh and unhooked a strap that held her weapons across her back. She made him feel safe, and he remembered her promise. He wouldn't be alone here. She leaned against the wall, smiling as Euan and other first years sat on a couch. Everyone was waiting patiently for Professor McGonagall to come and talk to them. They did not have to wait long.

Only a matter of minutes after the portrait had closed on them, it opened once more to reveal McGonagall and a gaggle of older students chattering behind her. She waited until they had gone upstairs before addressing the first years. “Welcome to Hogwarts, and welcome to Gryffindor House! I am Professor McGonagall, your Head of House. I am also the Deputy Headmistress, as well as your Transfiguration Professor. “Gryffindor House has a long and proud history of courage and bravery, but that does not entitle you to go off and seek danger. This school is based on a system of House Points: do good work for your House, and you will earn points; misbehave or break the rules, and you will lose points. The House with the greatest number of points by the end of the year will earn the House Cup, an honour that Gryffindor House has held for the last four years.

“Meals are served at 7:30 in the morning, noon, and at 5:30 in the evening. Do not be late, or you will go hungry. I expect all of you to behave in a manner befitting of the house of Godric Gryffindor. If you have any questions, my office hours are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 6:30 to 8:30 in the evening. If you ever find yourself in need, find any one of your housemates; if not, find one of the Prefects, the Head Boy or Girl, or myself. With that, have a good night, and I will see you tomorrow at breakfast. Your schedules will be handed out to you, and classes will begin at 8:00. ” Everyone gathered began to move away to the promise of warm beds. “Ms. Wolfshead, a moment?”

People stared at the transfer student, and began to whisper amongst themselves as she walked towards the portrait entrance and the Deputy Headmistress, her weapons in hand. They walked for a moment until Professor McGonagall found an empty classroom. The teacher locked the door behind her before turning back, a teary smile on her face. Airmed’s face matched as she walked the short distance to hug her. She was tall enough to rest her chin on the older professor’s shoulder, but McGonagall had more strength in her embrace.

“My darling niece…” McGonagall sniffled a touch as she pushed Airmed back and ran her middle-aged hands over her niece’s scarred face. “It has been far too long.” Airmed allowed herself to be pushed away as she drank in the look of joy on her favourite aunt’s face. It had been too long since her last visit, for so much had happened since then.

On the Isle since the beginning of the war, every Manx citizen was required to serve in the Royal Army for a minimum of fifteen years before being allowed to pursue another career. Unbeknownst to any of her colleagues here in Britain, Minerva McGonagall was born Morgana Lionsbeard, raised and trained on the Isle. She made a name for herself among the surviving Manx veterans as both an expert in transfiguration and as a remarkable duellist. After her fifteen years of service were completed, she was given an assignment by Their Royal Majesties to emigrate to magical Britain and become their eyes and ears. This meant that she had to swear oaths to never tell of life on the Isle to anyone not of Manx descent. When her nieces and nephews were born, Aunt Morgana began to come back every year at Yuletide, getting to know her brother's family bit by bit. Morgana knew the risks of coming back to the Isle, but she had lived carefully all her life. She was not about to become reckless with her niece now attending Hogwarts. 

For Airmed, her faraway aunt became a surrogate mother. They communicated often through letters during the years. When Airmed's parents died, Morgana was there with her foster father to help guide and train her. She revelled in her niece's accomplishments, cheering and supporting her from miles away. Airmed leaned on her until she was knighted. 

“It has been, Aunt Morgana.” Airmed let her aunt's hand wander along her scars, along the cheekbones echoed in the Lionsbeard line. “Thank you for the wonderful present. They have already served me well, and I treasure them for it.”

“And that display in the Great Hall? Well done!” They both sat on the tops of desks, looking at each other. “People will be talking about that one for many years to come. I saw you use a wand, though, Airmed?”

Airmed shook her head, drawing out the piece of wood. "A ruse only, Aunt Morgana. I was not given permission to show true Manx magic here. The woodcarvers were puzzled when I asked them for this. So I pretend, is all."

Morgana grabbed Airmed's hand, gasping at the sight of the tattoo there. "You finished your studies, then?"

Airmed's smile grew larger. "Yes. Queen Ethne did this herself. I'm now her second in the Order."

Morgana beamed. "I'm so proud of you, Airmed!"

The younger woman reached into the pouch at her side, retrieving a letter. "Here, from His Majesty and the Commander. I wasn't to read it until I was with you." They read through the letter together, humming at their orders. According to a signed decree, King Nuada was making small exceptions to the oath of silence in Airmed's case. She was allowed to talk about her family and general life on Mann with those not of Manx descent. Anything else was forbidden.

There was silence between them for only a moment, digesting the orders. “How are Drustan and Marcas?"

Airmed’s face turned dark at the mention of those two names. “Marcas is well. His wife is recovering from Aithne’s birth, and they talk about having another child later this year. Drustan… Drustan is dead.” Minerva closed her eyes at the news, stifling the gasp so as not to shame herself. “Killed three weeks ago by a Cwn Annwn’s bite to his throat. “ She hung her head, not allowing her voice to break. “I set him on his way to Tir na nOg and Manannan’s embrace two days later, along with the five others that died with him. The fifteen dark ones, as well as the Cwn Annwn that they took down with them, were left for the crows and the Morrigan. Moirrey and their daughters moved back into the Wolfshead estate, to live with the rest of our kin not serving. Their fathers and mothers look after them, and all of us will support Moirrey during her mourning.”

Neither of them did anything for a while, both of them remembering fallen loved ones. There had been too many, but there was always the hope that they would win this war. The Manxmen had to win the war, or else… there could not be an ‘or else’. At this late stage, the conflict had degraded, at last, to all or nothing.

McGonagall was the one to break the pensive silence. “Be aware, Airmed, that outside of private meetings such as this, I am Deputy Headmistress of this school and Head of your House. Until tonight, I have never seen your face, and I called you in here to hand you this,” she pulled out a map of Hogwarts, “and to explain to you the rules of Hogwarts. And because I do not know you in such a personal manner, you will receive no special treatment from me if you break the rules. Understand?”

“Crystal clear, Aunt Morgana… I mean, Professor McGonagall.” They exchanged one more embrace before leaving the classroom to head back to their respective rooms.

Airmed found the portrait of the Fat Lady and spoke the very strange password. Walking through the portrait hole and past the whispering little people, she headed up the stairs and into the fifth-year girl’s dormitory.

“Kill it! Kill it!” As Airmed opened the heavy door, the sight before her eyes was ridiculous at most. Three girls, all in semi-states of getting ready for bed, were screaming and squealing at something on the fourth empty bed, presumably her own. The frizzy-haired prefect had her wand out when Airmed saw what was frightening them so.

“Don’t kill it!” Airmed held out a hand to stop the eminent spell. Walking slowly, she came to her bed and held out her hand, letting the midnight black snake wind itself around her hand, coming to rest its head on her palm as Airmed raised the snake to her ear. Lavender, Parvati, and Hermione watched on in a state of horror as the snake spoke in a strange language. What was even more horrifying was that Airmed responded to the snake in the same language. When they were finished, the snake slithered away to hide under the bed. The only thought going through their heads was: was this new girl a Dark Lady in the making? She was a Parselmouth, for how else could you explain what they had just witnessed?

Airmed sat on the side of her bed and rubbed her tired eyes, noting that all three of the year mates were scared out of their wits. Sighing, she knew that an explanation was in order if any of the three were going to be able to sleep this night. “Don’t be afraid. Gwydion’s nothing to fear. He doesn’t bite humans, only mice. He's my pet.”

As she talked, she began to unbuckle her greaves from her shins. They were Aunt Morgana’s gift to her for her last name-day. They were made of dragon hide, charmed with runes for resistance against weapons and spells. As were the norm with greaves, they buckled at the back of her lower leg over her breeches, so that they did not interfere with her movements but they still protected her from stray low blows. Thus far, they had served her well. She undid her belt and loosened the strings of the pouch at her left hip.

“Then what were you speaking to it?” Lavender’s eyes were narrowed as the three of them sat on their beds.

“Manx. It’s my native tongue.  Everyone speaks it on the Isle, as well as Gaelic and English.” She chuckled a bit as she unpacked her pouch. “Gwydion is a special breed that we've developed in Manx: he understands and speaks all of the languages back home. I’m no…” she paused to find the correct word. “No Parselmouth! No, I’m not a dark one.”

Her brow furrowed for a moment. “Well, time to get out of this, then.” She picked up a miniature trunk with her two fingers from inside of the pouch. With a brief wink, the trunk in her hand grew to its normal size. Without a single word or an acknowledgement of the amazed looks on her roommates’ faces, she placed the wooden trunk at her foot of her bed and pressed her thumb on the steel lock. That seemed to be the opening mechanism, as the lid popped open with a quiet ‘click’.

Airmed turned to the girls as they now watched her with curiosity. She placed her belt and weapons aside on the bed and, lifting her chainmail coif back on her head, shucked off her tabard; as soon as she took it off, it reverted back to its original blue-black colouring. At that moment, she turned to the girls with a nervous look in her eye. “Can one of you help me with my hauberk? The knots in the back are a little difficult to reach.”

Parvati, after some silent discussion between the three friends, was the one to volunteer. Airmed turned around and pointed to the nape of her neck. “There’s three knots there, where the coif meets the hauberk. I’m never able to reach them without help.” The ties were of tightly woven fabric and the knots were tied quite securely, so it was difficult to get them undone.

While Parvati was doing that, Airmed’s left hand deftly undid the knots on her right arm at her wrist, below and above her elbow, and near her shoulder joint, and vice versa on the other arm, to loosen her sleeves. The coif soon hit the floor with a resounding ‘thunk’. All that remained was the hauberk itself. It was made, quite simply, for the wearer to slip into and out of. Parvati grabbed the neck of the chainmail and Airmed pulled herself out like an eel.

“My thanks…” She paused; how could she properly thank her without a name?

“Parvati Patil.” The Indian girl walked back to her bed, rubbing her cold hands against her pyjama bottoms. When she sat down, she commenced with braiding her long black hair.

“Parvati. And you are?” Airmed looked over at the middle bed as she gathered up her mail.

“Lavender Brown.”Her brown-blonde hair was loose and smooth around her porcelain face, away from her blue-green eyes as she bit her lip.

“And you are Hermione Granger, correct?” She stumbled over the pronunciation of the prefect’s name, calling her ‘Ermione.

“Yes.” Hermione paused and watched as Airmed knelt to the floor and carefully put her chainmail away in her trunk. “Why do you wear armour, and what did Professor McGonagall want to see you about?”

Airmed chuckled as she doffed her quilted breeches and the dark blue gambeson that she wore underneath her hauberk. “This armour is the high uniform of the Scoill; consider it like a formal robe. We wear this to any auspicious event that is commanded of us to attend. Professor McGonagall asked to see me because she wanted to make sure that I understood the rules of this school, as well as to give me this.” She picked up the map and showed it to them for a moment.

As she turned her back to the girls in order to slip into a pair of sleeping breeches and shirt, she heard all three of the girls gasp. “What? What is it?” “What are those?” She felt a finger run along the tops of her bindings, and she knew instantly to what they were referring to. “I was injured a month back. The medicine I was given was slower-acting.” She gently pushed away the wandering hands by pulling down her sleeping shirt. “Don’t pay them any mind.”

Her voice sounded hollow as she reached into her trunk once more, pulling out a silver candle, pieces of juniper and rosemary, and a small smooth chunk of moonstone. The Hogwarts girls looked on in curiosity as Airmed carefully arranged the candle, plants, and stone on her bedside table. The dagger that had been at her side all night made it to her hand as she carved a small symbol in the candle. With a motion of her hand, the candle was lit. Airmed knelt before the table, her knees hitting the cold stone floor. Bowing her head, the young Knight began to murmur a prayer too quiet for the other girls to hear. She knelt there on the ground for fifteen minutes, nary a movement betraying her until she raised her head. Carefully, Airmed snuffed the candle with her fingers, and tucked the plants and moonstone under her pillow.

She ignored the stares of the other girls as she tucked her dagger under her pillow as well. Lifting the blankets up, Airmed cradled her head in her hands as she simply listened to the thunderstorm around her. The storm never ceased during the night. Rolling thunder, white bursts of lightning, and the late summer rains were a comforting reminder of home. This was another test, was the thought coming through Airmed’s mind as sleep took her into his dark embrace.

-*HPatKoM*-

“What’s going on?” Harry and Ron looked at their dorm-mates as they chatted about the new student. Harry, in particular, was confused as to the significance of the event that had taken place over dinner. He had never heard of the Isle of Man before. Apparently, it was a bigger deal than he knew.

Neville, in truth, was the one to explain. Placing his nightclothes aside, he sat on his bed and looked into the flames of the massive brazier in the middle of the room. “My gran used to tell me stories, about the Isle of Man. It seems almost straight out of the legends of old, if it weren't real.”

His eyes grew glazed over as he remembered the old words. “The Isle of Man is a mysterious place now, but before two hundred years ago, they traded with us, with Scotland, with Wales, and with Ireland. Ancestrally, they protected us from foreign invaders and from magical melees. It was home to some of the most powerful sorcerers ever. Gran told me that they started training at an early age, and they never stop. They grow old, yes, but it was rumoured that they can live for up to something like three hundred years before dying.

“The Isle was renowned for its Knights, warriors in the truest of senses. Trained in the medieval fashion, they learn chivalry, logic, laws, jousting, archery, and training with multiple weapons. Both boys and girls are accepted, although there are usually more boys. Anyone could become a Knight, but it is a choice that requires great thought and commitment. Others could join the standing army, become scholars and teachers, stay farmers, or take on a trade if they chose not to follow the path of the Knight. All of these paths bore honour and standing in the Manx society.

“Regardless of what path they chose, they were creators and growers. Muggle and wizard lived side by side in unity. They learned, they played, and they worked with each other. A king and a queen ruled over them; there were always two, to keep the balance. The monarchs themselves were tied to the magic of the land, and had to pass it on to their heirs before dying in order to keep the chain unbroken.

“However, two hundred years ago, Britain closed its doors to Mann. Trade was stopped: for some reason, we abandoned them. In retaliation, the Isle is now Unplottable and under heavy-duty Fidelius Charms, fading away into stories. I never found out why, only that my gran cries about that day when she thinks that I’m not looking. No one can find it and no one can visit it anymore, save with the express permission of the king and when accompanied by a Knight. They grew insular, and continued as they always had.”

The fire cracked for a while, the only sound in the room. No one spoke, for they were thinking about what Neville had spoken. Seamus turned to him, a clear question on his face. “How do you know so much about this, Neville?”

“Because my father’s ancestors were from the Isle of Man.” Neville looked at them all. "My grandfather’s-grandfather’s-grandfather was a Manxman, before he emigrated here and started the Longbottom line.”

“What were you talking to her about, mate? At the beginning of the feast?” Dean sprawled out on his bed, letting the grandness of the meal and the warmth of the dorm room allow him feel languid.

Neville nodded to him. “It’s an old tradition to share a cup with a guest. It’s a sign of hospitality. She expressed interest in who some of us were, and I obliged her curiosity.” Harry got the feeling that Neville was not telling the whole truth, but he let it slide for the moment.

“What did she call herself again? Air-med?” Ron’s pronunciation was provincial: he called her ‘air-mid’.

“Her name’s Gaelic, dumbass.” Believe or not, that was Seamus. Heads turned and looked at him with shock or confusion. “It’s pronounced ‘are-med’. It’s the name of one of the old pagan gods. She was a healer. My ma used to tell me stories when I was younger.” That was the end of that discussion as he whipped the curtains around his bed closed.

Everyone headed off into their beds, sleeping against the rumbling thunderstorms. All of them were thinking about this mysterious student now in their school. What could it mean?


	3. I Soar: I Am a Hawk

Birds were singing in the air and the trees in the forest were creaking in the slight breeze as Airmed opened her eyes to the pre-dawn light. She quickly shook off the dregs of the sleep from her senses, waking up and observing everything. The breeze this morning was brisk, but not brisk enough to worry about layering up too much for practice; summer still had its hold on this land.

Her sleep was restless: the bed was far softer and more comfortable than she was accustomed to. Give her a hard mat on the ground or a stiff cot from the dormitories any day over this. Looking around, she scoffed quietly. Her dorm-mates were still asleep, letting their dreams overtake them and refusing to wake until the last possible moment. She? She was about her people’s business, the business of the Knights of Mann.

As Airmed laid in her bed for a few minutes, she looked to her right wrist and hand: more specifically, she looked to the tattoo outlined there in blue woad. She remembered just how much it had hurt getting that etched into her skin earlier this year. She had gotten it in the old fashion: she had to hold her arm and hand still as the artist tapped the tips of sharp steel needles into the design marked out, before going over it in woad to scar blue. It was yet another achievement for her, to show others that she was a member of the Order of the Dragon. It was a great honour, proof of the rigorous education that she had gone through in addition to her training as a Knight.

The Order of the Dragon were the priestesses and priests of Mann, the keepers of the ancient knowledge. It was an old custom to send the youngest daughter or son to train with them, not in weapons, but in legends and stories, rituals and a more instinctual kind of magic. It was always part of her mother’s dream for one of her children to undergo the Order’s training. Besides, not many could say that the Queen personally tutored them.

Aithne Wolfshead (her mother) and Queen Ethne Druidson had trained together as children, becoming close friends, almost sisters. Queen Ethne would do anything for the woman that saved her husband more than once on the battlefield. In between weapons training and her schooling, the Queen had personally tutored Airmed in the ways of the Order. Although the Queen had her own daughter to train, Airmed was her protégée in the ways of the lore and rituals of their people.

The tattoo held many meanings for her. It was a dragon, its wings outstretched over top her forearms. Its head and neck were on the top of her hand, its serpentine tongue sticking out near the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. For her, it symbolized the power and potential resting in everything that she did, from learning to fighting, to loving and mourning. For those Manxmen that understood what it meant, it told them that she had attained the rank of priestess within the Order and had the knowledge of the old ways stored in her head. It was also a sign to her of her own special gifts when she attained her mage rank at thirteen.

Airmed was not even twenty years old, and yet she had accomplished so much. However, at the same time, she had given up so much for her country. The balance always needed to be kept. Whatever blessings and gifts she had received were always tempered with the sorrow and bitterness of loss. There was always a balance.

Maybe one day, Airmed could relax enough to see all the good that she had done in the names of her sovereigns and of the gods. She dreamed about moving back into the Wolfshead family home, living there with her fiancé and her nieces and nephews. She imagined, sometimes, children of her own with black hair and the golden eyes of their father. Maybe some would bear the blue eyes of the Wolfshead line. However, there was still much to be done before that could happen.

Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, Airmed began to stretch out the cricks in her neck and the stiffness in her back. When she felt warmer, she began to roll her shoulders, elbows, wrists, hips, knees, and ankles, helping to keep her muscles loose and warm. Her training masters, her brothers, and her sisters had drilled into her from an early age the importance of warming her entire body before going into her workout or on a patrol. That was how preventable injuries were avoided. Right not, additional injuries were something that she could not afford.

Setting her feet on the cold stone floor, Airmed reached for the dagger underneath her pillow, turning in her hands several times. She never went anywhere without it, and for good reason. This had saved her life more times that she could count. Besides that, it had great sentimental value to her; it was akin to someone carrying around a snippet of hair in a locket.

The dagger itself was a simple piece: twelve inches of folded steel from Sidhe lands, the ripples of the blue-grey metal showed off the quality of the blade. The sheath was hardened leather, stamped in the centre of it with a protection charm hybridized with a triskellion. Where the cross-guard met the top of the scabbard, there was a small stamp of a wolf’s head, her family emblem. Its innocuous appearance belied the fact that it had taken many lives, both human and creature.

Removing her mind from such macabre thoughts, Airmed walked on silent feet to her trunk. This was a natality gift from Drustan when she was seven and living at the Scoill with the rest of her living family. The wooden affair was of solid oak, with steel corner-pieces and hinges. It, too, held its own set of secrets.

When Airmed placed her thumb against the lock, she felt the quick prick to the pad of her thumb as it keyed in to her essence and unlocked. It was a handy spell, a combination of warding and a little smidgeon of blood magic.

In her studies of British law and customs, Airmed was shocked to learn that no magical practices like blood magic, death magic, or dangerous defensive spells were taught; in fact, they were considered illegal. At the Scoill, they were taught all different kinds of magic, but they were drilled on the importance of using their magic for good or evil. Everything had a place and a use; nothing was inherently evil.

Her trunk served as a prime example of that. As a result of the combination of warding and blood magic, no one could access her belongings unless she and she alone keyed their essence into the locking mechanism. Otherwise, what was private remained private.

Airmed thanked Drustan every time she opened up this trunk, but in addition, today she was struck by how much she missed him. At the time, she was with another scouting party in the field when he was attacked and killed, but Marcas was with him and made sure that he was properly avenged. But still… family was family, and she was quickly running out of them. She shook her head: she had to stay in the moment. That required her to look into her trunk.

For all those not keyed in, the top of the trunk would seem to be filled with a black mist. It was a moderately difficult charm: a privacy charm, allowing only those that she had keyed into the lock to see what was inside. If by some miracle someone had bypassed her locking mechanism, or if she opened the trunk with others present, they would not be able to see what was in this trunk.

As with everything else in Airmed’s life, her belongings were organized so that she could find everything without any problem. It was a six-compartment magical trunk, the inside enhanced with charms that made the space larger than the exterior seemed to be. She never had to shrink the things that she needed inside of the trunk, only when she would put them in the pouch on her belt. The first compartment consisted of her clothes: tunics, pants, formal robes, boots, belts, as well as her chainmail, gambesons, and tabards. The second compartment held her books: it consisted of all of the textbooks that she had been required to get in order to attend Hogwarts, plus her staggering personal collection and journals. Her journals were all written in her personal code so that no one would be able to easily decipher her work by looking over her shoulder. The third compartment was for her potion-making equipment: cauldron, knives, scales, and small glass jars of every fathomable potion ingredient kept fresh under a series of stasis charms. There were also vials of potions that she had made, also under stasis charms. The fourth compartment was for her weapons, all laying flat and waiting for use. The fifth compartment had her weapon cleaning kits. The sixth… the sixth compartment was private and locked to everyone but her.

Working with the engrained sense of having done these actions thousands of times, Airmed pulled out her practice sword, long-axe, her bow and quiver of arrows, and placed them on the floor beside her. Next, she took out her quilted jacket, breeches, and her belt pouch. Finally, she took out her winter boots, lined with fur to keep her feet warm against the dewy grass.

The quilted jacket, unlike her regular gambesons, was weighed down with almost forty pounds of stones sewn into the central lining. As a young girl in training, it was to help her increase her stamina and endurance. Now, Airmed wore this during her exercises to help her to keep ready and fit. Nothing was worse in her mind than being unprepared for anything that might happen.

With practiced ease, Airmed shrunk her weapons with a thought and a wink and carefully packed them into her pouch before tying the pouch to her belt. Donning her workout clothes and getting her boots on, she spared another glance for her sleeping classmates, before shaking her head and coming to stand. It appears that she was going to be the outlier in this group, but that was fine by her. In fact, being different made things interesting in an otherwise stagnant social situation.

This was always the best part of the morning, at least for her. Reaching inside of her, she felt for her magical core; it was like a fire inside of her heart, burning with the strength of a bonfire. Reaching for one of the flames near the outside of the central blaze, she allowed herself to undergo one of her animal transformations. It was a second in real time as she felt her body rearrange itself into her peregrine falcon form. It was easier than it appeared, but it was hard to explain verbally. She had to take many lessons in animal anatomy, both normal and supernatural, and it took her almost a year of nonstop practice before she could control this particular gift and summon it at her will and only at her will. The practice and the training was well worth it in the end.

Airmed got herself settled on the stone casement before taking a deep breath. With two strong flaps of her wings and a push with her hind legs, she was in flight.

Oh! Flying was the best part of the day! Airmed let out a cry of delight as she barrel-rolled lazily around the parapet that was Gryffindor Tower. The thermals and air currents under her wings and sleek-lined body made her feel free… free from the war, free from her responsibilities, free from everything. There was nothing to stop her right now from flying away forever, living in a new land under a new name and forgetting all about the war. There was nothing, but her oaths.

Breaking her oaths… that would never happen. People back home were counting on her to help them continue fighting and winning against the darkness when she returned from her mission here at Hogwarts. Her fiancé was waiting for her, so that they could finally be hand-fasted as one. Her brother was waiting for her, so that they could fight side by side once more. Her family was waiting for her, waiting for her to come back instead of leaving them like the dark ones. Her rulers and her commander were waiting for her, so that she could lead her forces once more into victory. Her euphoria sobered with that chilling thought, Airmed turned her attention to the expansive grounds.

As she flew over the grounds, Airmed took in everything she saw, cataloguing it into her memory. A massive throng of deciduous and coniferous forests bordered the western half of the grounds. That must have been the Forbidden Forest that Dumbledore mentioned last night. She could spy a herd of centaurs running in the forest; a possible group of allies to the wizards living here, maybe? She spied a small wattle-and-daub hut in the buffer zone between school and forest. Was this maybe the house of a gamekeeper? She shrugged it off and considered it unimportant information. No smoke was curling from the chimney, telling her that no one was living there for the moment. Near the forest was a massive lake, apparently fed by the icy runoff from the mountains around the castle and grounds. As she glided over the immaculately kept lawns and the five greenhouses roughly the size of a small house each, she spotted the perfect place to exercise not that far off in the distance.

An outdoor arena of some sort allowed her all of the space and privacy to go through her morning routines. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, giving her a rough two hours to exercise and still leave her time to get ready before breakfast. As she rode the current, she transformed about fifteen feet above the pitch into her human form. Somersaulting until she landed on the ground in a crouch, Airmed took a deep inhale and smiled. It was time to go to work.

Picking at the ties of her pouch to reveal its contents, Airmed regrew her weapons and leaned them against the structure of the stands. Rolling her shoulders to settle the weights in the jacket, Airmed started to jog, run, and sprint, alternating between the three of them every lap. The rhythm of her feet, the weight of the stones on her entire body, her legs pumping, her arms swinging, and her breath filling up her lungs to their capacity… it was like a form of meditation for her. Her mind cleared itself after the second lap. She was sweating slightly after the fourth lap, the heavy cotton of her jacket sticking to her torso. By the time the sixth and final lap had finished, she was only beginning to pant. Most people would probably be on their knees with their bodies in agony, but not her. Airmed had done this particular brand of exercise too many times for it to be a great hardship for her.

She was not done with her warm-up yet. Falling to the ground where she had stopped running, Airmed proceeded to slowly work her way through one hundred push-ups, one fisted hand on the ground at a time before switching. After that, it was full-body sit-ups: she hooked her legs over the barricade of the lowest stands and let her weighted body hang down for a moment before slowly lifting her torso to her knees and down, over and over for one hundred repetitions.

With about an hour left in her estimated workout time, Airmed landed to the ground and pulled out her weapons. She started with her longbow.

This was the only live weapon that she ever trained with outside of a combat situation. It was a fifty-pound draw, made of good solid yew tipped with dragon tooth, with a string of braided unicorn hair and Acromantula silk. The oak arrows were fletched with shed griffin feathers, and the tips were razor-sharp steel arrowheads.

Airmed only used shed griffin feathers because they were freely given. She did not want to experience an angry griffin coming after her if she was stupid enough to steal feathers from its tail or wings. With that blessing, the griffin feathers alone made the arrows worth their weight in gold: they never missed a target under her keen and far-seeing eye.

Airmed explored the arena for a few moments, trying to unearth a good target without having to create one with her magic. Today, she was in luck.

The stands, covered with fabric displaying what she assumed were the House crests, were made of maple, a strong hard wood thick enough to take the brunt of her blows. She chose the badger symbol itself as the bottom of her target: her goal was to hit the small black box above the crest. It was not the same as shooting with the targets back home, but it would suffice for now.

If anyone other than a Manxman had witnessed what the young Knight had done next, they would have fainted, wet their pants, run away in fear and terror, or most likely a combination of all three. With a grim face, Airmed loaded and fired fifty live arrows from one hundred paces in ten minutes all told. Every arrow hit the target square in a tight clustered group.

As soon Airmed was done pulling the arrows out of the maple strut, she dropped her bow and quiver to the ground and picked up her sword and began to run through five drills. Each position she struck was held for two seconds, every ounce of power in her body used in every pose. This made the position stick into the muscle memory, making her remember under both calm and duress. It helped her to react quicker in battle situations.

Her practice sword was no toy, either. It was a replica of her two-handed broadsword, and it weighed thirty pounds easily. It was inexpensive folded steel with five pounds of additional weight added to the undecorated pommel.

To finish her morning drills, Airmed brought out her long-axe. It was an odd weapon for those that had never seen one before, but it was one that she excelled in using. A six-foot quarterstaff weighed with five lead pegs approximately five pounds apiece and tipped with a foot-long dulled axe head and spike, it was similar to a halberd in the sense that it was used as a long weapon. Unlike a halberd, her axe was used for more than simply stabbing; it was a slashing weapon as well. She ran through two pattern drills, the staff moving through the air like a fish through water.

By now, the sun was rising above the horizon and shining on the castle walls, illuminating the dull grey rock into… less dull grey rock. Airmed sighed as she gathered her weapons and shrunk them back into the pouch. This was the last part of her practice.

Every morning, she greeted the sun as it rose. Today was no different. She shucked off the weighted jacket and tucked it into the pouch. She doffed her boots, wiggling her toes against the drying grass, and smiled. She raised her arms above her head and felt the sun warm her and fill her with energy for the day. Closing her eyes, she raised her voice in chant.

_Greeting to you, Sun of the seasons,_

_As you travel the skies on high_

_With your strong step on the wings of the heights._

_You are the happy mother of the stars._

_You sink down in the perilous ocean_

_Without harm and without hurt._

_Your light shines on me and my people_

_And fills us with the strength for our battles to come._

She stood there for a few minutes, just soaking in the sun. When her bare feet grew cold on the damp earth, Airmed finished her prayer with a deep bow. Transforming back into her falcon form, she took off back for Gryffindor Tower. It was time to get ready for her first set of classes.


	4. Many a Glorious Morning Have I Seen

Airmed chuckled as she landed on the stone windowsill, peering at their still-slumbering forms with hawk's eyes. Hermione was moaning into her pillow as she turned on the mattress, appearing to hope for a few more minutes of respite. Lavender and Parvati were still sound asleep, one of them snoring slightly. 

As she transformed back into her human form, Airmed shook her head. It was a poor first impression, in her opinion. Airmed was used to waking up at dawn, working all day and often late into the night, and needing very little sleep to function. Here, students were allowed to sleep in? How very strange... 

Well, at least they were still asleep to allow her a simple joy. The early risers always get the hot water in the _Scoill_ dormitories, and it appeared that the same held true here.

Airmed stripped off her sweaty exercise clothes and laid them out on the top of her trunk to dry out a little before pulling out a clean uniform. Dumbledore mentioned something about house elves that do laundry during her orientation in the days before the Opening Feast, but she did not wish to disturb them so early in the morning. If they came around to clean her belongings, then she would need to leave them something in return as thanks. Maybe she would leave a small bouquet of the wildflowers she saw out by the lake, or a small thank-you note. It was a kind gesture, one deserved for all of their hard work. She walked quietly from the bedrooms to the washroom, and sighed with delight. 

On Mann, they might have been considered old-fashioned because of their lifestyles, but everyone appreciated the comforts of a hot bath after training. Airmed smiled wide as she found a large-sized tub waiting for her, full to the brim of steaming water. Conn had probably told Dumbledore about her routine, and this was Dumbledore's attempt at making her stay more pleasant. Well, it was definitely working. Maybe this school was not as bad as she had thought last night running up the muddy hills.

Airmed bit her bottom lip in sheer delight when she slowly submerged her whole body into the tub and let the hot water lightly scald her cold skin. Taking up the soap and brush provided, she scrubbed away the sweat and dirt from her limbs. She grunted at the knots in her tangled hair as she tried to undo her braid, but she managed to clean all of the dirt from it and restore it to its original white. The soap stung on contact with some of her newer abrasions, but her pain was not as important as keeping her wounds clean. As she got out, loose and languid from the heat of the water, she pulled her wet hair away from her face and finger-combed it into a tight braid.

Lavender and Parvati were finally out of bed and beginning to get dressed when Airmed walked back into the room with a towel wrapped around her shoulders. The talking came to a slow stop as they noticed their new roommate remove the towel and lean over her trunk to pick up her uniform.

Airmed was well built. That was the only way to describe her. As she slid into a pair of black dress pants, the muscles of her back, legs, and arms all rippled underneath her taut skin. Her shoulders were broad underneath the scarring seen in a new light this day. On her right hand was some blue ink: an old stain, maybe? As she turned around towards them and began to button up a white shirt, the Gryffindor crest newly-sewn onto the breast pocket, they saw the tight bandages around her torso over top a tight and muscled stomach that most boys would envy to have for themselves. Another bandage was wrapped around her left upper arm. There was not an ounce of fat on her body anywhere. There were only cords of scarred hard muscles.

With a small moment of incredulity, Airmed stared at the tie in her hands. For the time being, she placed it on her bed. Reaching into her trunk once more, she pulled out a golden candle, small shells, incense, a small bottle of soil, and a feather. Arranging them on her bedside table, she carved a different symbol into the golden candle before lighting it. Once again, she bowed her head and knelt, murmuring too low to hear what she was saying, before extinguishing the candles.

By now, all four girls were dressed for class. Breakfast was not going to start for another ten minutes, so they had a while to relax and talk among each other. Lavender saw Airmed struggle once again with the knots of her tie, and got off her bed. "Here, let me help." The Manxman glanced at her with a look of gratitude and let her show her how to tie the infernal piece of red-gold fabric.

"What is the purpose of wearing such things, Lavender?" Airmed seemed genuinely confused as she went through the motions of tying the half-Windsor knot a few times.

Lavender stood back, admiring her work. "Well, it's tradition, I guess. I don't know for sure. I've always worn one with my school uniform. It's just the way things are."

Airmed cocked her head looking at the strange knot around her neck. "Well, when in Rome…" That got a few laughs as she adjusted the fit of the tie.

Hermione was leaving the washroom from fixing her hair when she saw something glint on Airmed's right ring finger. "What's that?"

Airmed narrowed her eyes at the prefect as the girl pointed to her hand. She thought that Hermione was pointing at her tattoo. "It's a family mark, 'Ermione. Don't pay it any mind."

"No, not that! That!" Stalking across the room, Hermione grabbed Airmed's right hand and pointed to the ring resting on the fourth finger. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, but it was understated in its design. It seemed to have three symbols atop the silver setting: a sapphire heart between two joined hands, topped with a crown.

"It's none of your business." Airmed snatched her hand away. Her voice was soft but sharp, immediately chilling the air in the room. Parvati and Lavender stopped talking to look at the two feuding roommates. This would make excellent gossip, if they weren't so afraid of the new student or the size of her sword from last night.

As Airmed knelt before her trunk and opened it, Hermione tried to peek into it, but all she could see was black mist swirling over top, concealing the contents from her. "Why's your trunk like this?" Hermione sounded snotty, but truly underneath the bossy exterior she was concerned about the possibility of Dark Magic in Hogwarts. Staying at Grimmauld Place over the summer had made her slightly paranoid: Mad-Eye would be proud.

"It's a privacy spell, Granger." Out of the black mist, Airmed pulled out a leather satchel and filled it with black leather-bound notebooks, a case of quills and a small sharpening knife, a sealed inkwell, and a smaller leather book. As an afterthought, she added in a silver hipflask of sorts, but not before taking a swig of its contents. Hermione was about to question her about the flask, but Airmed nearly growled at her for this continued disturbance. Instead, she simply huffed off to her bed and gathered up her own school supplies.

As Airmed closed her trunk, she sighed in frustration. "'Ermione, it's a claddagh ring." She felt a little bad about her earlier sharp retort: the Hogwarts girl was simply and hopefully just curious about her. Maybe if she answered a few personal questions, then maybe the inquiries would stop. At least, that was her hope.

"What?" All three of the girls looked confused at the unfamiliar term.

"It's a ring worn by my people to show off our romantic status. When a claddagh ring is worn on the right hand with the heart facing the wearer, it tells others that I am engaged to be married." Airmed raised her eyebrow, daring any of the girls to challenge her on this matter.

"ENGAGED?" Lavender and Parvati squealed like little mice, nearly breaking Airmed's eardrums. "Oh my goodness! Is he hot?" They exclaimed and asked at the same time.

Airmed simply laughed. "Yes, I'm engaged. And yes, he is quite attractive." Her face mellowed out for a moment as she thought about him and twisted the ring on her finger. "His name is Niamh Firebird. We have been engaged since we were children." She looked out the window at the remnants of the sunrise as the sun now shone with full force. Niamh loved the sunrise, and had often told her that to see a full sunrise was to see the sky burn with natural fire, like the firebird of his family name.

"As children? Why so early?" Hermione stood there flabbergasted.

Airmed sighed, rubbing her palm on her face as she tried to explain something that was quite commonplace in her homeland. "As a tradition, every girl on the Isle of Man is betrothed to a boy at the age of five. This allows for the two of them to learn to love each other as they grow up together. Life begins early on Mann, the responsibilities increasing at a younger age than here, apparently." She sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing the back of her neck.

That custom may seem strange, or even barbaric, to these girls. However, at home, it was imperative to have a large standing army. The only way possible to consistently ensure that was to engage young and marry in your teens. It was not as if she was marrying Niamh without knowing or meeting him. She loved him, and he her. Knowing that either of them could die in the service of their country made life’s opportunities seem much more critical to grab on and cherish.

"How old is he?" Parvati looked out the window. Airmed could see plainly on her face that she was picturing a handsome man riding out on a white charger coming to sweep her off her feet.

"He's one year older than me. Our mothers and fathers agreed that it was a good match. We grew up together in the _Scoill_  with our families. There was no one else, for either of us." She stared at the joined hands, the heart, and the crown of the ring with a look of subtle longing on her face. "He waits for me to return from here, and then we shall be married."

Airmed looked to the three girls, a grin breaking out as she were holding back a secret. "Would you like to see a picture of him?"

"Yes!" Lavender and Parvati squealed loudly again. Hermione looked suspicious, like she did not quite believe that Airmed was telling the truth.

Airmed walked off her bed to her trunk. Opening it once more, she dug through the black mist until she found what she was looking for. Her eyes grew soft as she pulled out a small painted portrait. The girls gathered around as she held it in her hands.

The candid portrait was of three people standing and smiling in a stone hallway somewhere: Airmed, and two men. She pointed to a man a few inches taller than she was, with golden eyes and short-cut brown hair. Around his month was a closely shaved beard that covered his chin. He was wearing chainmail like she was, armed with two short swords crossed behind his back. Unlike Airmed, his tabard was decorated with a flying phoenix in full fire colours.

"This is Niamh, and the other man in Marcas." She pointed to the second man, with the same eyes as Airmed. His hair was blue-black almost, but even in the picture you could see small flecks of grey near his temples. This man was wearing the same tabard as Airmed: a relative, perhaps? "They are both waiting for me back home."

Airmed took her dagger from her bed and tied it to the belt at her hip, before putting the picture away. The slam of the trunk's lid startled the reveries of all three Hogwarts girls. "Now, I believe that it is time for breakfast." With that, she walked out of the dormitory and down the stairs into the Great Hall.

The boys of Gryffindor House looked at Airmed with new eyes as she sat amongst them and joined in their conversations without drawing too much attention to herself. Her scarified eye kept many of them on edge, but with a quick smile and a twinkle in her right eye, she made them feel at ease. Neville introduced her to a few of the other Gryffindors and got them talking amongst themselves about benign things. No one wanted to talk about her strangeness, but she saw that they wanted to.

"Wolfshead." She heard the 'Scottish' brogue of her aunt behind her, and duly turned around to face her. Aunt Morgana was hiding a smile on her face as she handed Airmed a piece of paper. "This is your class schedule for the school year. Your instructors have assured Headmaster Dumbledore that you would be able to keep up with the assigned workload."

"Thank you, Professor. I will endeavour not to disappoint you or my training masters." They shared a covert smile as she took the paper and nodded her head.

As the boys around her groaned over their apparently heavy schedules, Airmed simply swallowed back her goblet of pumpkin juice. She looked at the simple piece of paper in her hand and sighed softly. She would definitely not be busy this year.

**_Student Schedule  
_ ** **_Fifth Year: Airmed Wolfshead, Transfer Student_ **

_Monday, Wednesday  
_ _8:00-9:50: Potions; Professor Snape  
_ _10:00-10:50: Ancient Runes; Professor Babbling  
_ _11:00-11:50: Arithmancy; Professor Vector  
_ _Lunch  
_ _1:00-2:50: Defense Against the Dark Arts; Professor Umbridge  
_ _3:00-3:50: Astronomy (Theory); Professor Sinastra  
_ _Dinner  
_ _10:00-12:00: Astronomy (Practical); Professor Sinastra_

_Tuesday, Thursday  
_ _8:00-9:50: Transfiguration; Professor McGonagall  
_ _10:00-11:50: Charms; Professor Flitwick  
_ _Lunch  
_ _1:00-2:50: Herbology; Professor Sprout  
_ _3:00-5:15: Self-Study  
_ _6:00-8:00: Self-Study_

_Friday  
_ _8:00-12:00: Private Lessons  
_ _12:00-1:00: Private Lessons  
_ _2:00-5:00: Self-Study  
_ _6:00-7:00: Self-Study_

Seeing the schedule, Airmed took out the smaller notebook that served to keep her organized and copied her schedule out. When she was done, she smiled and went back to her breakfast. She always enjoyed brewing potions, and she had been studying Arithmancy and Runes since she was seven years old. This day just might be fun.

Of course, the peace was not meant to last.

"What private lessons?" Without warning or cause, Hermione ripped Airmed's schedule out of her hand and gripped it tight, as if threatening to rip it in half would change her answer. "And what's self-study?" Hermione's brow furrowed and her face squished together in thought, making her look like a pit-bull.

"They are private lessons and periods for self-study, Prefect." She held a waiting hand out for the schedule, but Hermione wouldn't give it up just yet. "Headmaster Dumbledore was generous enough to accommodate my lessons from the _Scoill._ "

"Are they offered to other students?" Was this child dense?

"No, hence the emphasis on 'private'." Airmed looked to Hermione, trying to blend patience with a small amount of incredulity. "You would be drastically behind and overwhelmed, 'Ermione. The style of learning on Mann is quite difficult for those not raised with her."

"Give it back to her, Hermione." Airmed turned and saw Harry Potter staring at the both of them with a tired look in his eyes. Airmed knew what was ailing him right away: something was plaguing his sleep, be it nightmares or endless thoughts it was not certain right now.

With a huff, Hermione's hand slammed the schedule onto the table and stomped away. There was a look of quiet thanks on her face as Airmed turned back to him. "My thanks, Harry Potter. Is she always like this?" She waved her hand in Hermione's direction. "She was quite forceful in her questions of me this morning in our dorm." She picked up a sausage and chewed on it thoughtfully.

"She's probably upset that she wasn't offered the chance to take those classes. Most likely, she'll go to Dumbledore and demand to join you." The redhead sitting next to Harry (his name was eluding her for a moment) with his mouth full of half-chewed food, tried to speak.

"She'll have a hard time of that." Airmed poured herself another goblet of water. "Those classes are a condition of my transfer: they are important parts of my life back home. My training masters wouldn't have allowed me to temporarily transfer otherwise."

"What's a training master?" Harry's curiosity was piqued, and so was the redhead beside him.

"It's the Manx equivalent to a professor. They train us and teach us until we are competent at their subjects, or until we have mastered the lessons. Hence, training master."

Airmed looked at the position of the sun out of the glass-paned bay windows behind the head table and made a quick mental calculation. "It's almost time for class. Can you help me find the Potions classroom?" Airmed pulled out her map and tried to find it with little success.

The redhead- Ron Weasley, she remembered at last- chuckled a bit. "Yeah, sure."

Harry saw the look of a potential prank in his best mate's eyes and stood up. "Come on. Better not be late, or Snape will kill you personally and use your innards for potion ingredients."

At that, Airmed only smiled. "A man after my own heart, then." She pulled out the small leather book and tucked her schedule inside of it. It was time for lessons.


	5. To Work Mine End Upon Their Senses

After a quick stop in the dorms to pick up the right books and equipment, Harry led Airmed down to the dungeons, navigating through the labyrinthine hallways until they made it to the class. They were not the first to arrive, but they were not the last either. She noticed that the Gryffindors were not taking this class alone. There were others with a green and silver snake emblazoned on their breast pocket: Slytherins, if she recalled correctly. Harry pulled her over to a desk near the back of the classroom with Hermione and Ron, but she declined and moved closer to the front, snagging a desk to herself.

Unclasping her cloak, Airmed hung it carefully over her chair. After getting out a fresh notebook, quill, and ink, she leaned down and pulled out a pouch from her satchel. Without drawing too much attention from the others, Airmed drew out a well-used pewter cauldron, a set of scales, a granite mortar and pestle, and a leather set of knives, stir-sticks, and spoons. She was just arranging her workspace when Professor Snape walked in.

"Settle down." His voice, cold and commanding, immediately brought back memories of home. With a straight back and alert eyes, Airmed placed all of her attention on Professor Snape. As she sat there, she noticed that the entire class had gone silent.

"Before we begin today's lesson, I think it appropriate to remind you that next June, most of you will be sitting an important examination during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions." As he walked around the front of the class, he stopped at Airmed. "You, Ms. Wolfshead, are not qualified to take the OWLs as you are not a citizen of Britain. Therefore, I expect you not to waste my time with stupid questions and inane babbling. However, that does not mean that you will waste my time in this class." She simply nodded her head, before he continued in his opening speech. "For the rest of you, as moronic as some of you in this class are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your OWL, or suffer my… displeasure."

Professor Snape moved behind his desk and glared at them all. "After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me. I take only the best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye." She saw his lip curl into a sinister glare. "However, we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell." Snape's voice grew soft. "Therefore, whether or not you are intending to attempt the NEWT level, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students."

Airmed grinned at the challenge. Oh, yeah: Professor Snape reminded her greatly of her training masters at home. And why not? If you saw it fit to waste a training master's time with useless frivolities not related to the lesson at hand, you would not receive a zero on the homework assignment. You would have been kicked out of the class, permanently. If you were a nuisance during the lesson, then harsher punishments were sought out then a simple banning from class.

Professor Snape posted a list of instructions and ingredients on the board, and told them to brew what he called the Draught of Peace. Airmed narrowed her eyes: it was not one that she was familiar with, but she would do her best to make it properly.

As everyone dashed to the ingredients cupboard and Professor Snape sat behind his desk, she walked up to the blackboard and copied out the instructions in her notebook. She did not bother with quill and ink: she simply used her magic to copy the instructions word for word into her notebook. Later in her dorm, she would break the potion down into her code and add it to her potions manual, after cross-referencing all of the ingredients and making any notations of possible changes that could be made to the formula.

Before going down to the ingredients cupboard, she spelled her cauldron to protect it and its contents from tampering. Airmed always did this before brewing. Not only did it keep any hairs and dust out of her potion, but it also made that she and she alone could add ingredients. With some of the more volatile potions that she has made, it was always safer to be more cautious than not. 

Everyone around her was dashing to try and complete the potion. Airmed proceeded at her own pace and quietly prepared all of her ingredients, making sure that everything was done according to the instructions set out for them. She put herself into that place and frame of mind where she was able to block out all distractions and focus solely on the task at hand. Professor Snape had a high quality of ingredients; why would he not, since he was obviously a master in his craft? She would hate to disappoint him in her first lesson.

As they all began to brew their potions, Snape began to make rounds through the students, critiquing their work. There was an obvious favoritism for the Slytherins; was he their Head of House? Many in the class were having a hard time with the potion, but he was not offering any assistance. It was clear, at least to Airmed, that Professor Snape expected his students to be prepared at all times. Airmed didn't mind. She took the time to make sure that the potion was made correctly. Nothing else mattered in that moment: not Hermione's endless questions, not Aunt Morgana's smile.

When Professor Snape came around to Airmed cauldron near the end of the class and saw the silvery vapors rising from the cauldron, he said nothing and passed her over. His voice rose over the class as he returned to the front. "For those that have managed to brew this potion correctly, I want a phial of it, labeled with your name, on my front desk. Your homework assignment: twelve inches on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion making, to be on my desk at the beginning of next class. Now clean up and get out!"

Airmed cleaned up her desk and cauldron with a simple scouring spell, moving her hand over the used equipment and winking. With a leisurely pace, she replaced the borrowed ingredients back in the cupboard, making a note to bring her personal tools again for the next class.

She was about to pack up her books as the rest of the students were getting ready to leave, when it struck again: a spasm that constricted her arm and upper torso. Airmed tried not to let the pain show on her face, save for a biting of her lip and a closing of her eye, as she reached into her pouch and pulled out the hipflask.

Before she could take a swig of it to ease the spasm, Professor Snape took the flask from her. Airmed simply looked at him as he inspected it, but the pain in her ribs and arm was getting worse. She was going to have to take it easier in her exercises for a while. Donnchadh was not here to scold her about it, but she had yet to heal from the last skirmish.

Snape brought the flask to his nose and sniffed it. His face grew narrowed as he glared down at her. He saw that the students were looking at the two of them, and dismissed them all with a narrowing of his eyes. "Ms. Wolfshead, stay behind for a moment." Well, she had an order from a teacher, and she had no intention of leaving without that hipflask.

As the last student left, Snape stood behind his desk and looked at her with a hidden curious look. "Now, Ms. Wolfshead, explain to me why you are drinking a pain relieving potion?"

At the tone, she made herself stand at attention. "Sir, before coming to Hogwarts, I was involved in an…" That was when she saw it on his ring finger: a simple silver band with a small round piece of malachite set into it. "Sir, where did you get that?"

"Answer my question, Sir Wolfshead." He addressed her with her title? That was all the proof that she needed.

Professor Snape was **cara Mann,** a friend of Mann. It was an honour granted a few, always for assisting a Manxman in a time of dire need. It meant that if it was needed, he could call upon the assistance of a Knight of Mann. More importantly, he mostly likely had some idea of what was happening to her home.

Airmed forced herself to stand straighter, holding her left wrist in the small of her back. "Sir, I was involved in a raid four days before coming to Hogwarts. I broke five of my ribs on my left side, as well as my upper arm. I was not the worst injured, and so the healers gave me this to drink after three days of bed-rest and a course of bone-knitting potion. I was instructed to take a sip whenever I felt pain from the healing." She lifted up her sleeve and pointed to the tight bandaging around her upper arm. Unbuttoning her shirt, she revealed the tight bandaging around her upper torso. "I have one week left in the potion; at that time, I was to report to the healer here and allow her to assess the progress of my healing."

Airmed re-buttoned her shirt and looked at Professor Snape, her hand out for her flask. He passed it to her without a word and let her tuck it back into her pouch after a much-needed swig. She bowed her head to him. "My thanks, **cara Mann** _._ "

She made to leave, but she stopped at the doorway. "Professor?" He looked up at her. "What books would you recommend for potion making? I had access to the _Scoill_ labs back on the Isle, and wish to continue to work on my skills while I attend Hogwarts."

Professor Snape stared at her for a moment, before writing out a list on a piece of parchment. "The potion labs are open on the weekends, and during spare classes. Speak to me before hand when you wish to use them. And, do not leave them a mess. That would… displease me." Airmed nodded again, walked out of his class and made her way to the staircases.

Ancient Runes was on the fifth floor, according to the map that Aunt Morgana had given her, and she only had five minutes before class was to start. Shrinking her satchel and tucking it into her pouch, she transformed into her falcon form and shot up into the air. As she landed on the floor, she transformed once again and walked into the classroom without a hair out of place.

Airmed entered the mixed-house classroom just as the professor entered as well. A middle-aged man dressed in deep forest green robes, about forty years of age, came to the front of the class and placed his books on the desk. His dark brown hair was tied off at the nape of his neck with a ribbon, but his hazel eyes were kind as they looked over the class. "Welcome to Fifth-Year's Ancient Runes. For those new to Ancient Runes, I am Professor Babbling. As you know, this is the year of your OWLs, and I expect nothing less than an 'Exceeds Expectations'. For this month, we will learn nothing new, but we will review everything that I've taught you the last two years to make sure that you have a solid foundation for the rest of the material this year."

Runes class was actually quite easy. Professor Babbling wrote down the first two _aetts_ of the Elder Futhark on the board and they all reviewed the basics of the translation; most of the students were struggling with the simplest of these runes, and none of them knew half of the information pertinent to each.

Airmed was bored to tears. She had known this material, in all of its depth, since she was ten. She placed her head on the desk for a moment, trying to relieve the headache building in the front of her skull without banging her head into the desk when she noticed the quiet in the class. She lifted her head and saw the entire class looking at her.

"Ms. Wolfshead, are we going too fast for you?" Professor Babbling looked quite concerned for her. Airmed berated herself for showing how she felt and sat straighter in her desk.

"No, sir. It's just that I already have these runes memorized." She pointed to the notes on her desk.

"All right, then. What's this one?" The teacher pointed to a rune on the blackboard.

" _Berkana,_ sir; the Anglo-Saxon name is 'Beorc'. Its traditional meaning is 'birch', a tree often used as a symbol for new beginnings and new opportunities. Other meanings include growth, healing, nurturing, the birthing process, and compassion." She paused for a moment. "One of the rune poems associated with this particular one is: _The birch bears no fruit; yet without it seed it/ brings forth suckers/ for it is generated from its leaves./ Splendid are its branches and gloriously adorned/ its lofty crown which reaches to the skies._ " Not once did she look through any notes or appear bewildered by the information she presented.

All the class was silent. Even Professor Babbling was impressed. Hermione looked at her like she was evil incarnate. Perhaps she was going to have some competition. That was just what she did not need this year…

"Well, it appears that your instructors were correct. What other sets of runes do you know about?"

Airmed bowed her head for a moment, remembering them all with clear precision in the back of her mind. "I know both the Elder and Younger Futhark, as well as the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc. With each rune, I know the names, correspondences, and at least two rune poems for each. I am also familiar with the mythological stories as per the origins of the Elder Furthark." She could feel the tension in the class, and she sighed. "I am quite familiar with the ogham script, as well as all of their connotations and meanings."

"Thirty points to Gryffindor for impressing me with your knowledge. Come see me afterwards, Ms. Wolfshead." For the rest of the class, they focused on three runes of the Elder Futhark, slaving over the information that had left them over the summer. Airmed simply sat in class, copying out all of the information that she knew on the Elder Futhark, trying to make herself busy. She just might need to take a spare class instead of this. Her Potions essay still needed doing.

When the class was dismissed, Airmed approached the desk and stood in front of Professor Babbling. It was the teacher to speak first. "I am impressed, Ms. Wolfshead, that you are able to answer my question like that. Not even Ms. Granger would have attempted that without referring to her notes." He tapped his fingers on his desk, as if considering what to do with her. "I'm going to talk to Professor McGonagall and see if you could drop this class. You are far too advanced even for the NEWT students. We were only going to cover the Elder and Younger Futhark this year, and how to use them in warding. I have a feeling that you are familiar with warding, aren't you?"

With a smile, Airmed pulled out her dagger and showed Professor Babbling the three combined ogham runes carved into the end of the pommel. ""It's a ward that I carved a few years ago. It's a combination of a protection ward, a ward for increased strength and sharpness, and a ward to make sure that the blade never becomes weak or liable to break in battle." She placed the dagger back in the sheath and watched the cogs turn in her professor's mind.

"Very well, Ms. Wolfshead. You won't be able to write the OWLs anyway, so this class will quickly become monotonous for you. Yes, I give you permission- in fact, I give you approval to drop this class and use this time as a free period." He looked at the hourglass on the table. "Now, you had better get to your next class."

"Thank you, sir." Airmed picked up her bag and walked out of the class. Arithmancy was not far away, only on the sixth floor. She walked with a lilt in her step: so far, so good. There was just one more class, and then she could have something to eat.

"How did you do that?" A Ravenclaw stopped her just outside of the Arithmancy class. "No one save a Ravenclaw could have answered that question with that level of specificity!"

She sidestepped him into the classroom, but she did turn to answer him. "I've long memorized that set of runes. It is simply a matter of repetition and review, when I have the time." She sat down at her desk and waited for the class to begin.

The Ravenclaw, however, was not finished with her yet. He sat down next to her and looked her over. "How did you wound your eye like that?"

Airmed turned and looked at him, a soft glare in her eyes. "That, nameless little rude boy, is none of your business." She was never happier in her life for a teacher to come into the class and begin her lecture.

"Welcome to OWL-level Arithmancy. I'm Professor Vector, and you are to listen closely. I want at least an 'Acceptable' from all of you on the final exam this year, but only those with 'Exceeds Expectations' will advance to my NEWT class. Arithmancy isn't hard; it is just practice." Professor Vector stood before them all with her hands clasped behind his back. Gray-shot black hair, eagle-sharp chestnut eyes, and dark navy robes made her appear far older than she probably was. "Now, pull out your workbooks and complete chapter one as review, to be handed in to me on Wednesday. Begin, and no talking!"

Airmed loved Arithmancy. It was one of her favorite subjects. It just made sense to her, as she worked through the one hundred odd questions. It was the study of the magical properties of numbers, but a large portion of it was simply arithmetic. Algebra, trigonometry, and geometry… At least she would not be taking this class as a spare, but this was definitely one of the easier classes.

When Professor Vector dismissed them, Airmed had a smile on her face as she flew down to the main floor. Just as she landed and transformed back, someone called her out.

"New girl!" She twisted her head to see one of the Slytherins from her Potions class walking up behind her. "Breaking the rules on your first day? Not very impressive." The blonde-haired boy with the ferret features and the prefect badge sewn on his chest sneered at her, as his two thug-like bodyguards tried to look menacing.

"Where in the rules does it require me to travel to class on foot, prefect?" She looked them straight in their eyes. "I used no magic in between classes, either."

"Do you know who you're addressing?" The little boy puffed out his chest and tried to look bigger than what he truly was.

"I see a little boy about to be walked around as I go to lunch." As she did just that, she walked over to the Ravenclaw table and to a group of seated fifth-years. Their conversations stopped instantly as she came to stand behind them. "Is it all right if I sit here?"

"Why are you not sitting with the Gryffindors?" An Oriental girl with a thick Scottish accent looked at her peculiarly.

"Is there a rule or something of the same nature that is against sitting with another house than my own?" All of them shook their heads. "With that settled, I put this to you. I believe that since we are all students, we should get to know each other. It is only logical, as many of you will work with people from other houses when you graduate, correct?" This time, they all nodded in agreement. "Therefore, I ask again: is it all right if I sit here?" This time, they moved and shared a spot on the bench for her.

The Oriental girl introduced herself as Cho Chang, a sixth-year. The others were Terry Boot, Padma Patil (the twin of Gryffindor's Parvati), and Michael Corner (the boy that questioned her before Arithmancy). All of them were discussing their homework assignments, and so she pulled out the beginnings of her Potions essay and showed them. "Is there a library of sorts in Hogwarts? I need some additional resources for my essays."

All of them stared at her with an incredulous look, but it was Terry that told her, "The Library is the whole of the third floor, Ms. Wolfshead. Ask for Madam Pince; she's the librarian, and she will help you find what you're looking for."

"My thanks, Terry." She got up and nodded her head to them all. Pulling out her map, she marked where her classes were so far. After lunch, she had Defense and Astronomy theory. She walked over to Harry and tapped his shoulder as he finished talking with Hermione and Ronald. "Excuse me, but where's the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom?"

She gave the map over to her, and he pointed out. "Fifth floor, here." As she looked it over, she saw that it was right near the Ancient Runes class.

"Thanks, Harry." Before any of them could ask her anything, she walked off, transforming in the middle of the hall into the falcon and flying off to the library.

The librarian at the front desk nodded and sniffed as she transformed in front of the main desk. Without saying a word, Airmed looked at the massive collection of volumes and tomes and fell in love. This place was brilliant, albeit smaller than the library at home. She fell into a quick discussion about what was in the library with Madam Pince, who quickly became quite pleasant to talk once she got started on her books, before she was shooed away to get to class on time.

Little did she know what was in store in that class for them all…


	6. One May Smile, and Be a Villain

Airmed was the first to enter the classroom, and immediately her stomach began to roll in disgust. Around the class were portraits of kittens in hot pink frames, all of them either meowing or scowling at her. She was tempted to plug her ears with wax at the incessant noise, but it would have been an undignified behaviour for a Knight of Mann. Therefore, she took out her notebook and quill and waited for class to begin, sitting near the back of the room and using a training exercise to block out the incessant noise. 

Others began to trickle in as the time drew closer for the class to start. It appeared to be a class for all of the fifth-years. She saw Harry and Ron sit next to each other, with Hermione at the nearest desk to them. The class still seemed to separate itself out by House. Everyone, instead of reaching out and making friends with others of different Houses, seemed to prefer to spend time with their housemates. What was the purpose behind such a lack of unity? 

A bored student began to charm a paper bird into flying around the class. Everyone was having fun sending it around the class until it was set afire and landed in ashes on Padma’s desk. Everyone looked to the back of the class and saw Umbridge with her wand out and that ridiculous painted-on smile on her face. 

“Good morning, children.” By the gods, her voice was driving Airmed mad! Umbridge flicked her wand three times, and words on the blackboard began to appear. “Ordinary. Wizarding. Level. Examinations! O.W.Ls! Or more commonly known as ‘OWLs’!” She was talking to all of them like they were little children, and Airmed tried her best to tune out her irksome pitch while keeping her respectful mask in place. Umbridge stood in front of the class with her hands folded in front of her and was staring at them with that fake bright look in her eyes. “Study hard, and you will be rewarded. Fail to do so, and the consequences may be… severe.”

Umbridge shrugged her shoulders and summoned four stacks of books to float among the students as each one of them hit a student’s desk. “Your previous instruction in this subject has been disturbingly uneven.” 

Airmed looked at the textbook on her desk, turning it over in her hands. It was a children’s book. A children’s book?! What was this woman trying to teach? Well, Airmed sighed, at least she did not have to take the OWLs at the end of the year. Even if she did, she had been trained in methods of self-defence since she was five. “But you will be pleased to know that, from now on, you will be following a carefully instructed and Ministry-approved course in defensive magic.”

On the other side of the classroom, Hermione’s hand shot up as she flipped through the first few pages. When Umbridge called on her, she asked, “There’s nothing in here about _using_ defensive spells?” Airmed turned through the pages and saw that, indeed, instead of teaching defence, this ‘new’ class was almost like teaching grown men and women to run for the armed guard and hope that they could fix it. Airmed rolled her eyes: this class was a joke.

At the inquiry from Granger, Umbridge tittered a laugh. “Using defensive spells? I can’t imagine why you would need to use defensive spells in my classroom.”

Ron spoke up this time. “We’re not going to use defensive magic?” Airmed could not see his face from where she was, but he probably bore a confused look like the others around her. For herself, Airmed simply sat in her desk and lent nothing to the conversations. 

“You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure and risk-free way.” At least now that gummy smile was no longer on Umbridge’s face. Instead, she was looking quite concerned at the questions, but she continued to talk to them like they were slow. When her gaze fixed on Airmed, she glared for a moment. “After all, those educated in Hogwarts should know that there is nothing that will require you to use practical magic in this class.”

Airmed let nothing show at that jab. It was clear that Umbridge didn’t approve of her attending Hogwarts. Truthfully, if it were not for her other assignment for Their Majesties, Airmed would prefer to be back home. Still, orders were orders…

“What use is that? If we’re going to be attacked, it won’t be risk-free.” Now it was Harry’s turn to question her. Airmed looked quietly at Harry. She had to speak to him later, in private. For all that Umbridge was a bad teacher, she was still a person of authority. If she taught on Mann, (the sky forbid that it would ever happen) the whole class would have be reprimanded with five hours of punishment work in the stables or on watch-duty for their lack of respect. 

Apparently, Umbridge had enough of the questions. “Students will raise their hand in my class when they wish to speak, Mr. Potter.” She turned her back and walked to the very front of the class. Turning around, that smile was plastered on her face again. “It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examinations, which, after all, is what school is all about!”

Harry was not finished yet. “But how’s theory supposed to prepare us for what’s out there?” Airmed simply tucked her head down, hoping to go unnoticed, but Harry would not let it go. “I mean, evil’s out there. Look at Airmed! She’s obviously been fighting something!” 

People around Airmed turned and stared between her and Potter for a moment. She tried her best to ignore them. She had not wished to draw attention to herself during this class, what with a representative from the Ministry here ready to report her movements and dealings back to that dunderhead Fudge. However, it was too late for that.

“Ms. Wolfshead is not from the British Isles. Whatever is happening where she comes from is no concern of yours, because it should not affect you. Besides, there’s nothing out there, dear! Who do you think would want to attack schoolchildren like yourselves?” Her bright tone began to sound forced, but Umbridge kept the act going.

Harry paused for a moment. “Hum… I don’t know. Maybe… _Lord Voldemort?_ ”

The class was completely silent as everyone tried to look inconspicuously away from Harry. Umbridge’s face finally fell, and Airmed could do nothing but watch as she unfurled herself from the uptight-and-bright personality. “Now… let me make this quite plain. You have been told that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again.” She began to walk down the aisle. “This is a lie.” She smiled at Harry as he erupted in class.

“It’s not a lie! I saw him! I fought him!” Harry tried to appeal to the rest of his class for support, but no one moved to help him.

Umbridge stalked back up to the front of the class, while saying with a bite in her voice, “Detention, Mr. Potter!” 

Harry was not finished yet. “So, you’re saying that Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord?” Airmed remembered that name when Conn was instructing her on what to expect from Hogwarts. Diggory was the Triwizard Champion that died earlier in the year, a result of a killing curse. 

“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accident.” Although she despised the woman, Airmed had to give Umbridge some credit. She was definitely holding her ground in this argument, making Harry look like a rebellious little child. 

“It was murder! Voldemort killed him! You must know this!” Harry was yelling now, his voice echoing in the class. Airmed knew that he was telling the truth, but he was only getting himself into trouble.

Umbridge finally had it. “ENOUGH!” Her shrill voice echoed in the class. She tried to rein in her composure. “Enough. See me after your classes, Mr. Potter. My office.” She twittered once again, that gods-awful smile back in place. “Now, read chapters one and two this class. There is no need to talk.” That was the end of that argument, and everyone got down to reading the simplified material. As she calmed down in front of the class, Umbridge finally turned her complete attention to Airmed as she quietly sat and read. She could feel the toad walking towards her and stop beside her desk. 

“ _Hem-hem._ ” Airmed looked up at her from the dreadfully boring reading. “I just have a few little questions for you, my dear. What is your background knowledge on this subject?” Umbridge’s voice grated through her teeth as she talked.

Airmed sighed, rubbing her hands together to keep them warm. “Ma’am, I have received a disciplined education in both non-magical and magical self defence.” There was so much more to her learning than that. As long as she answered the question to Umbridge’s parameters, then she would answer with the bare minimum.

Umbridge’s eyebrow twitched and her jaw clenched. Airmed was not a mind-reader, but she could infer that Umbridge was expecting a different response. That did not completely deter her from continuing her line of questioning. “Then, who are your teachers? Perhaps they are familiar to me?” 

As she spoke with that spun sugar voice that grated on Airmed’s already tender nerves, Airmed resisted sighing. “Ma’am, I do not believe so. My training masters have not left Mann during their tenure.”

Umbridge’s eye began to twitch. “What, then, is your purpose for attending Hogwarts?”

Airmed folded her hands on her desk, and looked straight ahead. “My purpose for being her, as agreed upon by my headmaster and my sovereigns, is to attend Hogwarts until the winter solstice, or until they summon me to return home. In addition to this, I am to represent the Isle of Man to the British Ministry of Magic, to possibly begin talks of renewed alliances and trade agreements.”

Umbridge coughed in shock, trying to get a reaction out of Airmed. “In that case, Ms. Wolfshead, you must be aware that female students are to wear skirts in this school. I insist that you go and change immediately.”

Airmed just looked ahead at the chalkboard, her face blank. She was trying her best to let this conversation wash over her. “Madam Umbridge, I must point out that, as this is the fourth class that I have attended today, you are the first professor to have taken offence at my dress. Furthermore, my headmaster discussed this issue with Professor Dumbledore, who has allowed me this small favour.If there is an issue concerning that, then please discuss it with Professor Dumbledore.” Her voice was quiet and respectful at all times as she addressed her teacher.

“I don’t like your cheek, girl.” Airmed raised her eyebrow in surprise at the venom dripping from Umbridge’s mouth. The rest of the class looked at them as they saw, once again, the beginnings of a row between teacher and student. Airmed mentally added ‘xenophobic’ to the list of adjectives that she was using to describe Umbridge, alongside ‘psychotic’, ‘fanatical’ and ‘generally off her rocker’.

“Ma’am?” Airmed feigned confusion. She was careful to show no such cheek. She was taught far better manners than that.

“You do not belong here in this noble school. You are not worthy to learn, let alone for me to teach, you stupid little girl.” The sneer marring Umbridge’s face was enough to make Airmed wish to punch her until she was cold on the floor. 

“Madam, I must ask that if you continue to speak to me thus, then I wish to be dismissed to discuss your treatment of myself with my Head of House.” Airmed kept her anger in. Umbridge was not worth getting angry over. “Furthermore, I ask that you remember the offices that I hold when you attempt to damage relations between Mann and Britain.”

“Oh? What offices? You’re just a child!” Umbridge wished to challenge her? Well, since the time for pleasantries was past, it was time to fight back.

Airmed rose from her seat and stood at ease from her seat. Everyone, Harry included, was staring at her with bated breath. “I am Sir Airmed Brigid Wolfshead, Knight of Mann, and captain of the Royal Army of the Isle of Man. I am priestess of the Order of the Dragon. I am the loyal servant of King Nuada Eaglewing and Queen Ethne Druidson. Lastly, I am the royal ambassador to the British Ministry of Magic for the sovereignty of the Isle of Man.” The entire class was silent in shock. At fifteen, she was an ambassador? 

Neville, in particular, blanched. She was the royal ambassador? Mann had not sent an ambassador to magical Britain since they were closed out over two hundred years ago! 

However, Neville should not have been surprised about that. Her mannerisms were polite and crisp, always unfaltering in their confidence. Her voice, though heavily accented, rose and fell with the cadences of someone well educated. Being from Mann, she most likely was educated in laws and the arts of diplomacy. She was a perfect candidate to bring their countries together again in trade.

Umbridge, however, was unfazed. “Well, _Ms._ Wolfshead, I expect to see you in detention with Mr. Potter tonight.”

“As punishment for what?” Airmed was the end of her tether now.

“For being disrespectful to your betters, for wearing the wrong uniform to my class, for telling lies…” The smirk on Umbridge’s face grew, “…and for carrying a dangerous weapon among impressionable students.” With a grab like a frog’s tongue, she made to grab at the knife.

That was it! Airmed’s face grew vivid with the force of her fury. Before Umbridge could wrap her hand around it, she placed her hand on the pommel of the knife and held it tight. She almost drew it out to point it at Umbridge, but that would get her nowhere. “You will not touch me or my possessions again, madam!” 

“Then hand it over!” Looking so smug, Umbridge was the epitome of pompous superiority, the very thing that Airmed was trained never to become.

“Never!” Airmed felt the dragon-hide cut into her palm as she gripped the handle of her blade. 

“Then it will be a week’s worth of detentions!” What happened next shocked everyone. Airmed disappeared before their very eyes. All of her belongings were gone. There was not a trace of her to be found in the class at all.

Hermione waited for Airmed to arrive in Astronomy, popping her head up once in a while from her rigorous note taking to look at the heads around her. She was not present at dinner. Despite their differences, Hermione considered the young Knight to be a friend. She kept her eye on Airmed, even though the new student terrified her so. It was after dinner that she found Airmed in the girl’s dorm. She was about to enter the dorms, when she heard Airmed yelling. 

“Commander, I don’t understand! Why have you sent me here?” Airmed sounded like she was going to cry, but instead she was ranting at nobody. That was when Hermione saw the snake from the night before wrapped around her hand. “This whole place is backwards! They treasure stagnation and lies over progress and truths. There are no sciences taught, no arts! They still use wands, for Arawn’s sake!” 

There was a pause where Hermione heard the snake speak back in what she assumed was Manx. Airmed visibly deflated at whatever the snake was saying. “Commander, they didn’t comprehend that I’m the ambassador. Their Ministry representative just laughed at me! There is no way to accomplish this! Our peoples are far too different! They still believe that Voldemort is dead and that Potter is a liar! They have no defences in place for any attack! How can I learn from them if they hold to such ethnocentric perceptions? I saw the looks that they gave me when they saw my armour! They know nothing about our war! Why should they, after they locked us away like animals?” 

The voice from the snake’s mouth was sharp, if it was giving her an order. “I understand, Commander. I apologize for my harsh tongue. There is something else, though… there is one here who is most curious about us. What do you suggest?” The snake’s voice was quiet. “My thanks, Commander. Donnchadh and I will plan something to show them about Manx values on Friday. Please tell Niamh and Marcas that I love them?” The snake nuzzled against her hand before slinking away out of sight.

Hermione peeked through the gap in the door, trying to be discrete in her listening. However, it was not enough. Airmed opened the door so violently that she cracked both the stone and the oak threshold and looked down on the prefect with fire in her eyes. “Prefect Granger, even I know that it’s rude to eavesdrop on private conversations. If you ever do it again, then I will ensure that you regret it.” She strode past the stuttering girl and walked down to her detention with Umbridge.

Harry was not there yet, but Umbridge was. She sat at the front desk, waiting patiently. “Ah, Ms. Wolfshead! Please sit down!” How that woman maintained that simpering and perky voice was beyond Airmed’s ken. “Now, you’re going to do some lines for me tonight.”

With a sigh, Airmed took a seat in front of Umbridge. Reaching down to her bag for some paper, she heard Harry enter and sit next to her. As she pulled out a quill, Umbridge stopped them. She looked over and saw Harry doing the same thing. “You two are going to use special quills of mine.” From her desk, she pulled out two long black quills with wicked-sharp steel nibs.

Airmed’s eyes widened at the sight of the Blood Quills. She knew that they were illegal, but Conn had ordered her to attend this detention. This merited a conversation with Aunt Morgana tomorrow. 

Umbridge looked down at the two of them. “Now, Mr. Potter, you will write out, ‘I must not tell lies.’ Ms. Wolfshead, you will write out, ‘I must not tell lies, I will dress properly for class, and I will respect my betters’.

“How many times?” Harry asked her.

“Oh, as long as it takes to sink in.” Umbridge sat behind the front desk and watched them.

Both of them wrote and wrote into the night. They wrote their lines for two hours non-stop, their hands bleeding and wounded. Airmed showed no reaction: she was trained to resist pain. Harry, on the other hand, winced and groaned as the quill carved the line into his hand over and over.

When the two hours had finished, Umbridge stopped them. She leaned closer, inspecting their hands. “Well, it seems that the message hasn’t quite sunk in yet. It is good, then, that you both have detention with me for the rest of the week. Go on, now!” 

They walked in silence back to Gryffindor Tower, their hands bleeding on the floor. Airmed turned to Harry, a grimace on her face, as they reached the Fat Lady. “Wait, Harry.” She produced some extra bandages from her bag. “Wrap your hand up tight, and wash it before going to bed under hot water and soap. That should ward off infection, and stop some of the pain.”

“Thanks.” They were silent for a while. Harry openly stared at Airmed as she closed her eye. 

“Harry, I need to talk to you, about this… neither of us should have said what we said in Defence.” Airmed leaned against the wall and let the pain leave the forefront of her mind. Slowing her breathing, she let the pain wash over her.

“But it was the truth!” Harry was indignant when he heard her say that. Was she no better than the others? Why did no one want to listen to the truth?

“But how many people believed us? You have to face much competition from other sources, many seemingly more credible than a young boy. I have to work with Umbridge’s superiors when I attend the upcoming ICW meeting, and they may very well harbour the same perceptions as Umbridge. Sometimes, not admitting anything is better than telling the truth. It isn’t lying. It matters only that we know it is true. That way, it can never be judged by others to be incorrectly false.” She clutched her hand, catching a look at the claddagh on her finger. 

Once again, there was silence, until… “Are you really a Knight?” Harry sounded just like one of her inquisitive nieces and nephews. 

Airmed chuckled. “Yes, Harry. I am christened a Knight of the Isle of Man. I was knighted by King Nuada’s own hand, before being promoted to a captain in his army.” She turned to him, her hand wrapped up but still bleeding. “Perhaps when the time is right, when you have earned my trust, I will share my story with you.”

Astronomy that night was quiet. Hermione kept looking in her direction and trying to non-verbally ask what was going on, but Airmed effectively ignored her as she drew out a star-map, one of many for the final exam that she was not going to write. Still, they were useful for her collection. 

Airmed did not speak for the rest of the night, not even when Hermione tried to talk with her on the way to the dormitories. Slipping her knife under her pillow after her nightly prayers, Airmed closed her eyes to the rest of the world. 


	7. I Have Begun to Plant Thee

The next morning, Airmed repeated her morning ritual, but with a few changes. While she went through her drills, she took off the weighted vest so not to aggravate her injuries. When she greeted the morning sun, she prayed to Lugh for the strength to face the challenges of the day. The girls in the dormitory were talking around her as she quietly got ready, but they grew silent when Airmed knelt before her altar and prayed once more. She wasn't quite ready to speak after the events of yesterday. Rather, she worked to keep her composure in place without breaking down. She would not, could not, do that here: not in front of these strangers.

On Mann, everyone at the _Scoill_ were trained with the need for emotional control. The nature of emotions themselves served to drive their passion, fuel their lives. That was not a bad thing, but all students learned by the examples of their parents, training masters, and commanders to rein in their emotions, to control their composure before others. It served as a shield, so that enemies could not get a hold to use. A Manxman only gave into the primal emotions in private, or in the company of family.

Before leaving the dorms, Airmed made sure to tuck Gwydion around her neck, to pass on a message to Aunt Morgana. They needed to talk about Umbridge's choice of punishment. This was recklessly injuring her, and for what? Wearing the wrong uniform? Professor Dumbledore had given her both a verbal and a written dispensation to wear pants, witnessed by her own headmaster. And why should that bother Umbridge? Did it distract from her learning? Or did she simply wish to be that controlling of her students? Besides, Umbridge thought to punish her for claiming her earned titles, calling her a liar? The accusation dug deep into Airmed's heart...

She saw to it that Gwydion was curled up on top of Aunt Morgana's plate when she came into the Hall for breakfast. The members of the staff were scared off when they saw him hissing contentedly. Umbridge nearly drew her wand out to destroy him. Aunt Morgana, however, saw him and let the snake wrap around her hand before bringing it to her ear. All of the Professors were shocked when the snake spoke into their colleague's ear. Professor McGonagall looked around the crowd and nodded when she spotted Airmed sitting near the head of Gryffindor's table. She carefully held the snake in her hand as she walked down to the Gryffindor table. "Come with me, Ms. Wolfshead." Airmed stood from her seat and together they walked up to McGonagall's office. With the door open, they looked like student and teacher, not as family. Professor McGonagall returned Gwydion to Airmed, who proceeded to gently curl around his mistress's arm until he wrapped around her neck. "I received several messages about you, Sir Wolfshead. Professor Babbling told me that he approves of you dropping Ancient Runes. Professor Umbridge is quick to recommend a week's worth of detentions, but she refused to give a reason why. And now, a rather unorthodox method to request a private meeting... Shall we start from the beginning?"

"Professor, I attended the first class of Ancient Runes and listened to the lecture given in class. However, this is material that I have covered since childhood. I would only be a distraction to those who wish to learn. Professor Babbling gave me his blessing to drop his class, since he felt that I am too far advanced. I ask that I be allowed to drop Ancient Runes in favor of a spare period in order to complete homework assignments." Airmed stood at ease in her uniform, clasping her hands behind her back.

"If that is what you would like to do, then I can arrange it." McGonagall folded her hands on top of her desk, staring at Airmed over the rims of her glasses. "Now, onto the second report. It appears that you are serving a period of detention with Professor Umbridge?" Both of them noticed the dislike in the last word of that sentence.

Airmed closed the door to the office, not wanting any others to overhear. Sighing softly, she returned to her aunt. "Yes, I am serving detention with Professor Umbridge all week in the evenings. It appears that she was not aware of Professor Dumbledore's allowance in regards to my uniform, and requested that I change immediately. That being my fourth class, I told her about the dispensation and she refused to believe me. She called me... 'a stupid little girl that did not belong at this noble school'." Airmed took a breath, keeping herself together as she spoke. This was simply another situation report, one of hundreds that she had given before. "She assigned detention to me for disrespect of my superiors, incorrect dress, lying, and for carrying my blade, which she attempted to confiscate."

Aunt Morgana hissed at that last sentence, grabbing Airmed's hand. However, Airmed was not done yet. "I ask you, Professor, to speak to Professor Umbridge about her choice of punishment." Airmed unwrapped the bandages and placed her wounded hand on the desk for inspection. Minerva's face grew pale as she lifted her niece's hand to have a closer look at the marks. "Please tell me that these are not what I think they are."

"If you are thinking that these are the product of a Blood Quill, then I tell you that it is true. She had me write, 'I must not tell lies, I will dress properly for class, and I will respect my betters' until 'it sinks in'. " Airmed looked at her aunt with a hollow gaze. "She had no idea, Aunt, that I am the representative of Their Majesties. She thought that I was lying." With a shaky breath, Airmed tried to laugh unsuccessfully while rewinding the bandages. "Please inform Professor Dumbledore about this. I will complete the rest of our detentions this week, and she will most likely use that on me again." She looked at the faded words on the back of her hand. "She accused me of never making my oath, Aunt." That was when she broke.

Minerva closed the doors and took her trembling niece in her arms, her own heart breaking at the same time. She felt the tears hit her shoulder as her last living niece held on for dear life as she burst into salty sobs. To any Knight of Mann that held true to their oaths, being accused an oath-breaker was akin to assassinating one of their sovereigns. It was one of the worst crimes possible to commit. Knights of Mann made their oaths not on their shields or swords, but on their very lives and magic (if they had that gift) to do so. If caught and found guilty, the offender would be labeled 'warlock' and 'traitor' and executed after being tortured.

To be accused of never making that oath was akin to telling a Knight that their life's work was done for nothing, that all that they had done in the past was worthless to a race that prided itself on getting things done. It was psychological and emotional murder, particularly to the prideful nature of Manxmen. Airmed had come from a hard world, and she was still so young. She was far too young for such sorrows.

Airmed cried for a few minutes but it felt like hours, as the hard-built dam to her emotions broke free and spilled out for her aunt to witness. She did not belong here. She wanted to go home, where everything made sense. She missed Niamh, and Marcas, and her men. But she had her orders: she had to talk to Harry Potter, to help him find out about the truth.

By now, breakfast was over and they both could hear students in the halls coming to class. Minerva did a quick Drying Charm on them both, erasing all signs of Airmed's tears. The only sign that anything had been wrong was Airmed's red eye, but there was not much to be done about that. They walked into the class together before all of the others, resuming their guises as professor and student. Airmed sat in a desk near the front and watched as the students came in and sit around her.

"Welcome to Fifth-Year Transfiguration. Now, I expect all those taking the OWL in June to achieve at least 'Acceptable'. However, I only take those with 'Exceeds Expectations' or higher into my NEWT class. Today, we will review Animagus regulations before having a demonstration of Human Transfiguration by one of your classmates."

It was an easier class to work through the theory, and Airmed thanked the gods that Aunt Morgana was teaching this class. It had been a long time since her mother or father had comforted her. Her foster father was always busy with the war, and he was more of a friend to her now that she was grown. Her other teachers were good substitutes for parental figures, but they rarely hugged her. Niamh and Marcas were always there for her, but right now they was hundreds of miles away. She had only her aunt and Professor Snape as allies here in Hogwarts, so far.

As Airmed took detailed notes during the lecture, she felt eyes staring at her back. She dug deep into her training, bringing the shield up around her mind to protect. A complex skill for some, this was like a second skin for Airmed. Whenever she felt uncomfortable in situations, she always brought the shield up around her mind and thoughts. It stopped the constant poking at her mind, and aided her concentration. 

"Ms. Wolfshead." Airmed snapped her head up as she looked at her aunt. "Would you like to demonstrate the ability that you displayed on the night of the Opening Feast?"

Airmed bit her lip before smiling and nodding. Nothing made her feel better than transforming into her different forms. This would help to make her sadness begin to fade. Standing up and tucking in the chair to her desk, she walked in front of the class.

"First, can you explain how you transform like you do?" Aunt Morgana sat behind her desk, a small smile on her face just for her niece.

Airmed looked at all of the faces in front of her, trying her best to explain this. "When I was three, I saw my first wolf. It was just a woodcutting in my family's coat of arms, but I fell in love with it. I wanted to be one so badly, I willed it with every fibre of my body. Then, something happened: a bright light surrounded me, and my vision began to change. My mother came looking for me when I stopped making noise. When she found me, she got the surprise of her life when she saw a wolf pup where she had left me. She picked me up by the scruff on my neck, looking me in the eyes. I wanted so badly to tell her that I was sorry for causing trouble, when another bright light surrounded me and I was human again. That was when I began my training at the _Scoill_.

"My training masters had to teach me how to control my magic in order to change into various forms. Before I could even attempt the change again, I had to be able to control myself. Then, I had to learn about the animals one by one, non-magical before magical. Now, I can change at will into any creature." As she spoke, she saw that everyone believed her, a far cry from yesterday's embarrassed silence in DADA. "Before I demonstrate, are there any questions?"

Padma Patil from the Ravenclaws raised her hand. "Are you able to transform only parts of your body, say, a hand or a leg? Or do you have to transform your whole body every time?"

"Good question." Airmed nodded to her. "I couldn't do that, not at first. I completed my basic animal studies when I was five. After much practice and discipline, I have great control over my power, in order to manipulate it according to my will."

A different boy raised his hand. "Seamus Finnegan. When you transform, do you keep your human mind, or do you turn into that animal completely?"

"Another good question, Seamus. Yes, I do keep my human intelligence in my animal forms." She looked over the classroom and pointed to a Hufflepuff near the back. "You, there. What's your name?"

"Ernie. Ernie MacMillian." He stuck his chin out, making him appear pompous and important as he stood from his chair unbidden.

"Well, Ernie, Ernie MacMillian," at that, the class snickered a bit, "I will give you a first go." He stared at her with confusion. "Tell me what you want me to transform into, be it whole body or part."

His answer came right quick. "A badger. Whole body." She nodded her head before closing her eye and transforming. In a few seconds, a full-size badger was on the ground in front of them. What surprised them all was that she walked among them only to stop in front of Ernie. With some degree of difficulty, the Airmed-badger stood on her hindquarters and pushed Ernie back in his seat with only one shove.

As Ernie huffed on impact with his chair, Airmed transformed again and returned to the front of the class. With a wave of her 'wand', all the desks (and the students sitting in them) levitated a few inches up from the ground and moved against the walls before gently dropping back to the ground. "I don't want to hurt any of you, but I do need a little more space." She looked around expectantly. "Well, any more volunteers?"

Everyone's hands shot up in the air, begging her to choose them first. "'Ermione."

"Actually, I just have a question. What do you mean, you started your schooling at three years of age?" Her face looked incredulous, like it was inconceivable for someone to start learning so early.

"That has nothing to do with the demonstration at hand, Ms. Granger." Professor McGonagall spoke from her desk. "Ms. Wolfshead has sworn an oath of secrecy, akin to an Unbreakable Vow, in regards to many aspects of her training at the _Reeoil Armee Scoill_. Professor Dumbledore failed to mention this at the Opening Feast, but as Deputy Headmistress, I am telling you all now: do not ask questions about the _Scoill_ , or it will be an automatic five point deduction from your house."

Airmed turned around the class and pointed to another person. "Daphne Greengrass. Can you transform your hands into bear paws?"

With a smile, the demonstrations were back on track. Bear paws for hands… snakeskin on her arms… a raven… a lion… a griffin… cat's eyes… the dragon from the feast… a tiger… a phoenix… The students were creative in their requests, and it got Airmed to smile after her distress earlier.

When she was finished, she moved the desks back with another wave of her wand and sat down. Standing once more, Professor McGonagall looked at them all. "For homework, I want you to read the chapter on Vanishing Spells for Thursday. Off you go, now."

As everyone was leaving, Airmed walked to the desk in front and looked to her aunt. "Professor McGonagall, I had a chance to explore the library floor yesterday before Defence, and I noticed a large blocked-out section. The librarian insisted that I had to have a note from a professor in order to access it. Is it possible for you to write me such a note?"

Professor McGonagall looked to her niece with a tilted head and a curious gaze. "Why, Sir Wolfshead, would you need to access the Forbidden Section?"

"For resources in my self-study, ma'am. I pride myself on being thorough, and I do not wish to stop simply because I am not on Mann." It was a quick flick of a quill and a few drops of ink flying around, but Aunt Morgana signed the note and passed it to the young Knight. "Ms. Wolfshead, you know that my office doors are always open to students in need of an ear to listen. Please, don't ever be hesitant to talk to me." Airmed looked at her aunt and mouthed, "Thank you," as she headed off to Charms, tucking the note away in her smaller notebook.

Charms was… well, it was fun. Professor Flitwick was animated and bright as he taught the basics of Silencing Charms to the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. Airmed dutifully took notes, but when it came to the incantation and wand movements, she sat quietly at her desk.

"Ms. Wolfshead, can you demonstrate the spell for us?" He may have only reached the middle of her chest as she sat, but Professor Flitwick was a former duelist and still had that essence of steel in him. "Where is your wand, my dear?"

"Professor, it's here." She looked at the toad on her desk that she was supposed to be Silencing, and with a single flick of her 'wand', her toad was rendered mute. "I'm familiar with the spell, sir."

Professor Flitwick looked impressed, bringing his hands to grasp his robes. "Oh, my dear. I'll have to see how far ahead you are on the curriculum, in that case." He tapped his fingers against his chest. Airmed looked at his hand. Just like Professor Snape, Flitwick bore a gold band set with a malachite cabochon. He saw that she saw, and discretely nodded his head. "Come see me on Saturday. I'll test you on your skills, see what else your... teachers have taught you." He seemed to pause at the word 'teachers', as if it was not his first description of choice. He addressed the rest of the class. "I want you all to give me two feet of parchment on the theory behind the Silencing Charm, and how it can be used practically in a magical duel. Off you go!"

Airmed quietly packed her bags and headed to the stairs. The Charms class, being on the eighth level of the castle, was a far enough distance for her to fly down. She took her time with lunch, having had eaten little at breakfast. Down the table, Seamus Finnegan was trying to turn his water into rum, while Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom compared what looked like Divination dream journals.

"Lookie here, Gred… A Knight with no armor." A voice rang out behind her. She turned and saw two redhead twins standing behind her, identical down to the last freckle.

"Be careful, Forge. Didn't Ginny ever teach you how not to judge a book by its cover?" Simultaneously, they shivered.

Airmed could not help but to laugh. "Let me guess… Somehow, you are related to Ronald Weasley?"

"Him, that redhead fool? Unfortunately so. But still, one must wonder how that came about. He's nothing like us." They spoke one sentence at a time, trading off speaking between the two of them. Between the two of them and those silly grins plastered on their faces, she could not help but to laugh again. "However, we didn't come to talk about us. What about you?" They sat down on the bench, one of either side of her.

Her smile noticeably dimmed, but it was still a smile. "That is a loaded question, boys. I'm not sure you have enough time for that. Besides, what you want to know is not the same as what you need to know." She looked at them, chuckling. "And what you need to know is this: I'm no dark wizard sent to corrupt and kill you in your sleep."

"Oh, good!" One of them handed her a goblet of pumpkin juice. "But that's not what we meant…" They looked at each other. "Tell us about the Isle of Man."

By now, she knew full well that others were listening in on the conversation. These Hogwarts folk were not very discrete, at least among the Gryffindors. She sipped from the offered goblet and began to tell. "The Isle is a beautiful place. Where the hills are green, heather and cushag grow in abundance, colouring the landscape green, purple, and gold." She closed her eye, allowing her voice to grow soft and whimsical. "Where the ocean meets the rocky cliff-sides, gulls and water birds make their nests in the sharp rocks. The ocean pounds on the shoreline all the time, the undertow strong enough to pull the strongest men down to the depths. There is one area that beaches out, and that is where we hold our funerals." She opened her eye and saw that all of the Gryffindors were listening intently to her. "Most mornings, the mist climbs over the cliffs and covers the ground, even coming up to the castle walls. The hills are covered, masking them from sight."

She looked down at the vambraces tied to her forearms for a moment. "Falcons and wolves live in the forest, with ferrets, voles, wild birds, deer, bears… whole numbers of animals and birds live around the island. Apple tree grow everywhere, and the ground is so rich and fertile that anything grows. Such a beautiful place…"

She slammed the goblet down, startling all around her out of their reveries. "But I'm here right now, and it does no good to dwell on the past for more than is necessary." With that, she stood up. Before she transformed, she felt a tug on her sleeve. Airmed looked down to see Euan standing behind her. "What is it, little one?"

He was blushing so badly, but he spoke quietly and purposefully as she knelt before him. "People have been talking about you. Airmed, can you teach me how to do that? Turn into animals?"

Airmed's heart nearly broke at the sight of him asking. "I'm sorry, Euan. Only people born of the Isle can do what I do. But," she lifted his chin up to look him in the eye, "you can always become an Animagus when you're older. Ask Professor McGonagall about it in your next Transfiguration class." She smiled at him. "And you can always ask me for a ride."

"I have Charms next. Could I get a ride, just once?" Airmed smiled and transformed into the large grey wolf from the feast. Lying on the ground, she waited for Euan to sit behind her forequarters before coming onto her paws. He was light for an eleven year old, and his hands held on tight to the fur on her neck. With a happy bark, the Airmed-wolf took off at a run, little Euan holding on for dear life.

Professor Flitwick yelped in shock when they stopped in front of his door. Euan jumped off just as Airmed transformed into human shape. She looked up at the diminutive professor and winked before ruffling Euan's hair. "Now be good for the professor, yeah?" She walked across the room to the window. Transforming into the peregrine falcon, she cried out as she launched herself from the windowsill into the air.

The wind was picking up ever so slightly, but at least it was flowing in the directions of the greenhouses, the location of her next class. She just soared in the air as she barrel-rolled and twisted to land in front of the fourth of the small buildings. Looking around, she was the only student here yet. Airmed shook her head: what was with this school and the lack of discipline?

Knocking on the door, she heard someone call out, "Come in, come in!"

Humid air hit her face as soon as she entered the greenhouse. Plants of all kinds were growing all over the room, and her boots sunk into the fertile soil. Her heart warmed at the sight of the heather plants in the corner of the room, thriving somehow in this heat. She could pick out a rounder woman in dirty brown robes, her arms elbow-deep in dirt. Her wiry grey hair was frizzy underneath her pointed hat.

"Who's there?" The woman still had her back turned to Airmed as she wandered amidst the plants.

"A fifth year, Airmed Wolfshead." She saw a group of quivering Mandrake plants on the table in front of her. "Your Mandrakes need re-planting, correct?"

"Yes. One of many things to be done, I'm afraid." Airmed smiled. Her mother, she remembered, loved to grow things. She had passed on whatever knowledge she had to her youngest daughter. Airmed, if she hadn’t had other circumstances changing her path, would have pursued the path of a green robe, to study the plants that she uses all the times and the animals that she turns into.

Working carefully, Airmed slipped on a pair of dragon-hide gloves after stripping off her cloak and rolling up her sleeves. She found a bin of earmuffs and passed one to the dumpy-looking Professor. "Please wear these." She laid out a row of bigger pots and bags of soil before putting her own earmuffs in place.

She worked quickly now. Grabbing a potted Mandrake, Airmed grasped it firmly just above the root and yanked it out. She could not hear it wailing, but she definitely saw it fighting her as she moved the plant into the bigger pot and loosely packed fresh soil around it. She did that for all of the Mandrakes before sprinkling them with water.

Airmed felt a tap on her shoulder. As she turned, she saw the woman standing behind her. With a shake of her head, she dislodged her earmuffs. "How did you do that?" The woman pointed to the fifteen potted plants, now content in their bigger pots.

"I learned back home." She took off one of her gloves just as students began to file in. "You must be Professor Sprout, yes?"

"Yes, Sir Wolfshead. I know." Airmed cocked an eyebrow: three people now had used her title. "Professor Dumbledore told us about you before you came here, although he made it abundantly clear that you were to be treated the same as any other student. I am fascinated with the fertility of the soil on the Isle; I've only heard legends about the quality of your apple trees."

"Blame it on an abundance of dragon manure, low soil acidity, and plenty of water and sun." They shook hands as the students pooled in around the table.

"Very good. Twenty points to Gryffindor, for exceptional potting skills." Professor Sprout turned and addressed the rest of the class. "Now this year, we will be focusing on more Potions-oriented ingredients. You will be graded on how well you are able to harvest the ingredients, as well as your knowledge."

This class, yet again, was child's play for Airmed. She was able to identify all of the plants in front of her: deadly nightshade, oleander, thorn apple, mountain laurel, and jimsonweed. They had to re-plant and water them, a repeat of Airmed's earlier actions with the Mandrakes. From mature plants, they harvested the parts necessary for potion ingredients. All the while, Sprout watched them and critiqued their methods.

Why did people assume that this work schedule was a hard load? Airmed contemplated that as she flew back to the castle. This was child's play for her, even with her schedule being fuller than the other students. She still had another two hours of self-study to complete, but it was doable. Back home, there were so many additional lessons, not including honing skills, early morning practices, drills and patrols… The work was never ending. What did they have here: homework and sports, with the occasional weekend outing? This was a joke!

Once she reached the library floor, Airmed placed her bag on one of the empty tables and began to work on the research for her essays. She couldn't help herself from humming a mindless tune as she worked through each subject, before pausing for a break. 

Airmed found that the members of the British magical world tended to segregate themselves from the 'Muggle' world. In the few days that she had been here, she had witnessed many people sniffing disdainfully at the Muggleborn students, but she had yet to fathom why.

On Mann, she had grown up with both magical and non-magical comrades. She was serving with both! Neither were favoured over the other. It only mattered that they served the Isle to the best of their abilities, working together when it benefited both.

The same proved true of the Manx Royal Libraries. They were the homes of much of the 'lost' knowledge of the ancient world, and they were constantly being filled with more knowledge and theories through the years as it came out. The Manx Royal Library had the biggest collection of original Greek and Islamic texts dating by to before the fall of the Roman Empire. Some called it magic: in that, Airmed was one of them. It allowed them to keep updated in their information, not like some of these school textbooks from out of the Victorian age. They were up to date with non-magical scientific theory, even going so far as to apply it in their own schools of thought. All knowledge is sacred, especially the ones that people do not understand right away.

Airmed skipped dinner in favour of working on her essays. She was not hungry, and she knew that she would be spending her evening self-study session with Umbridge and her sadistic detention.

At least, Friday would be a light at the end of this dismal week…


	8. The Disciplines in the War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, readers!  
> I hope that you're enjoying The Knight of Mann.
> 
> Here on, we start having conversations in languages other than English. For Gaelic conversations, the words will be bolded. Manx conversations will be italicized. 
> 
> At the end of the chapter, there is a song being played. Here is the link to it on YouTube: /watch?v=LXNSQ9DXrRc&feature=related. Enjoy!
> 
> Cheers, and enjoy!!

Harry found himself intrigued by the transfer student, Airmed Wolfshead. She was not like any of the girls at Hogwarts. The other girls in their year preferred to chatter and twitter around constantly. From what Harry had witnessed of Airmed, she was laconic most of the time, and yet verbose when the occasion called for it. As a result, when she spoke up, most people tended to listen to whatever she was saying and take it seriously. She was not one for idle chatter or coffee-housing on the gossip de jour.

Studious and hard working, Airmed seemed far more advanced in her studying than what they were teaching this year. Whenever she was called upon in class, she answered the inquiry quickly and quietly, without showing off or boasting in any way. On the other hand, it was like she was bored constantly. She worked hard in class, but she sometimes had this expression on her face that read that what they were learning was not new material for her in the least. Yet she would spend hours in the library doing homework of one kind or another.

Airmed seemed to have formed a connection with Professor McGonagall, perhaps in an advisor-like capacity. On Thursday, she had a standing meeting with the Deputy Headmistress that lasted for a few hours. Harry was still studying in the common room when Airmed came through the portrait long after sunset. She simply nodded to him, and headed up to the dorms. 

Beyond schoolwork, Airmed did not talk about herself or her home very much. If you asked her about her personal life, she would shut you out faster than a Golden Snitch could move. Harry reminded himself that Airmed had made that vow before coming here not to talk about the _Scoill_ , but she would still describe her home for those that asked about it. From what she had told them (and the little at that), the Isle of Man sounded like paradise.

There was one common theme in her behavior: efficient discipline. Everything she did, from eating in the Great Hall, to doing her homework assignments, to practicing the spells in class, was done in a way that suggested that she was drilled to act in certain ways. Teachers received the utmost attention from her, even Umbridge after that first day. Every movement was done with the least amount of energy, but with the greatest efficiency. Yes, sir: Airmed Wolfshead was a mystery inside of an enigma wrapped in a riddle.

So imagine Harry's surprise when, after all of the detentions where she wrote out 'I will dress properly for class' into the surface of her hand, Airmed walked into the Great Hall early Friday morning dressed in the chain-mail armour from the opening feast. The mail clattered against her quilted breeches, and she was just doing up the ties at her wrist when she looked up. Harry saw her axe strapped to her side and her sword strapped to her back, and wondered what was going on.

_"Hem-hem."_ Everyone could hear Umbridge from a mile away as she walked towards the Knight. Airmed's frustrated sigh was obvious to all around her as Umbridge stopped behind her shoulder and talked to her back. "Fifty points from Gryffindor for continued disregard for the rules, Ms. Wolfshead." She shook her head sanctimoniously, clicking her tongue as Airmed turned and looked at her with a resigned expression. "And…"

"Stop taking these ridiculous house points from my protégé, Madam Umbridge." A deep male voice boomed out from the direction of the oak doors. Airmed's head snapped towards the direction of the newcomer, whipping her hair in Umbridge's face. "I asked her to come dressed like this."

Harry beheld the strangest sight yet in his magical education. A titan of a man, his skin black as night, was walking calmly between the tables where Umbridge and Airmed stood. A shaved head and deep brown eyes made him look intimidating, but it was the scars on his head and hands that made him look truly frightening. He was dressed in a similar manner as Airmed: chain-mail, quilted breeches and jacket, heavy boots, belt, and black tunic. The tunic was decorated with a crimson fisted hand, the fingers thick and meaty. Across his back was a well-used broadsword and war hammer. His arms were thick, almost as thick as half of Harry's torso. When he came to stop in front of the two women, he was almost one and a half times as tall as Airmed (who was already taller than Harry), and probably two times her size in pure sinew and muscle.

What happened next shocked everyone in the hall. With no hesitation, Airmed fell down to one knee before the giant. Bowing her head, what she spoke next was heard throughout the silent hall: "Master Strongarm, I beg your indulgence in allowing me to practice with you". The giant brought his hand before her face; Harry could see a ring on his index finger. Airmed took the offered hand and kissed the ring.

"Rise, Sir Wolfshead. Your request is accepted." The dark giant looked at Umbridge with thinly veiled dislike. "Leave now, Madam Umbridge. It is time for Airmed's lessons. Airmed, get on your feet." With a practiced ease, Airmed got to her feet and followed the man that she called 'Master'. As soon as they left, the hall burst out into talk.

Neither Airmed nor her 'master' talked as she led him to an empty classroom near the Great Hall. Once the door was closed behind them and the desks were moved away, they smiled and embraced each other, grabbing their forearms and bringing them to their chests as they chuckled in each other's arms.

_"Ah, Donnchadh! It's been too long!"_ Airmed looked at him as they separated and began to draw their weapons. The Manx words flowed from her tongue with a reminiscent manner, like a breath of fresh air after a rainstorm. She looked over to the man in front of her and smiled.

Donnchadh Strongarm was the training master of battle magic and weapons mastery at the Academy. He was the most senior of battle mages still living, and was one of the few that had seniority and rank over her and her brother in the Royal Army. He was tough as nails on all of his students, working them to the bone and beyond to force them to become the best Knights that they could possibly become. With him, there was no middle ground: you either passed, or you failed. Failure in his class meant that you could not be a Knight, but it did not disqualify you from your mandatory service to the crown.

When her father and mother passed away, Donnchadh became her foster father, akin to an uncle to her. He watched out for her when her family could not. It was he that saved her on that horrible night all those years ago. Airmed owed him a debt that could never be repaid save by one thing: killing the person that had caused them both such pain.

_"The same, Wolfshead. Now, will you explain why I had you kneel in front of me back there?"_ He took his broadsword and war hammer and began to swing them experimentally. _"I tried my best to hide my curiosity, but you have to tell me."_

_"This school doesn't understand the concepts of Manx Knighthood, my friend and father: loyalty, honor, obedience, and discipline. If I don't show them by example, how else can the Potter boy find himself curious enough to be able to talk to me, outside of those stupid detentions?"_ She showed him her ungloved left hand. _"That pathetic bitch is sadistic. She had me carve this into my hand with a Blood Quill."_

_"Conn told me about it. Dumbledore did nothing?"_ Donnchadh looked livid as she shook her head.

_"He probably doesn't know. I told Aunt Morgana, though."_ Airmed unsheathed her own longsword and axe and warmed up a bit. _"What shall we practice first?"_

_"Hand to hand. You still can't best me in three out of three matches, and you know it."_ Donnchadh shook his head good-naturedly, his earlier lividness disappearing like the ebb and flow of the tide. _"Once you can beat me in two out of three matches, then we'll move on to the live weaponry. Fair?"_

_"Fair."_ Airmed placed her weapons aside and went through a series of stretches, being cognizant of her own limits in the chainmail. _"Well, let's get to practice. We've only have until the lunch hour before Dumbledore gets worried."_

For the next three hours as students passed by, all that could be heard from the room were the clanking of sword fighting, the thud of mailed flesh against mailed flesh, and the giant shouting at Airmed in two languages other than English. Everyone that passed by wondered along the same lines: what was going on in there? Most of them, however, were afraid to find out for themselves.

Around lunch hour, the door opened. The giant had Airmed's arm draped over his shoulder as they walked up to the infirmary. She was not unconscious, but she was trying not to put a lot of weight on one of her legs. A trail of blood came down from her, leaving its bloody prints behind the odd-matched pair. Everyone stopped talking as they walked past, mostly from shock or abject horror. The giant seemed to know his way about the school, but he and Airmed were murmuring to each other about something as they walked.

Madam Pomfrey simply pointed to an empty bed and left in a hurry as they came into the unoccupied infirmary. Airmed winced as he helped her out of her tabard, hauberk, and gambleson before letting her lay out on her stomach. Donnchadh glared at her as he began to disinfect her wounds with the alcohol from the potions cupboard.

**"You need to practice more, pup. I've never seen you so rusty."** The Gaelic sounded more guttural than Manx, but it was still a flavour of home that was sorely missed since living here in England for this transient time. Donnchadh came back and tapped one of his fingers against the back of her neck. Airmed sat up and removed her tunic, wincing as she jostled her ribs. 

**"I've had to downsize my morning training until my arm and ribs are fully healed. Sorcha's potions are slow-working, but they are effective when they've finished running their course."**  Airmed let him undo the bandages from her ribs and palpate them, wincing as he found tender spots with his ministrations. **"I was supposed to come in here tomorrow to have Pomfrey look at them, but you can do it. I really need to get back to my training. I can't stand doing only half-workouts."**

Donnchadh ran his hand along her upper arm and looked down at her, some kind of concern in his eyes. **"Well, everything is in place as best as I can determine. Still, come in tomorrow and get the healer to look at it. She does have more training than the both of us."** He saw the bleeding cuts on her wrists and hands and began to tend to them. **"Whom do you train with?"**

**"No one."** He cocked an eyebrow at her, bandage linen in his hands. **"Donnchadh, these people are complacent in their quest for normalcy. They worry about their homework for the classes that I could do in my sleep. The majority of them don't even believe that Voldemort is back and gaining strength! When Potter stood up to say otherwise at the beginning of the week, he was punished with lines like me. That sadistic bitch took pleasure in belittling the both of us and trying to discredit our names. A muzzle is upon them, and their pathetic Order of the Phoenix is trying, but they are blocked by endless political games."** She sighed. **"And they call me backwards."**

**"Well, what do they do for exercise?"** When she shook her head, Donnchadh swore. **"They do nothing?"**

**"Some of them play on broomsticks… a game called Quidditch? But there is no set time for physical activity other than walking to class."** Both of them swore with force.

**"Why did Conn send you here, pup?"** He gave her head a rub as she rolled her shoulders and head. Airmed tried not to wince as Donnchaddh quickly wrapped her ankle. 

**"I don't know, my friend."** Both of them were silent as she folded up her hauberk, slipping back into her shirt. **"Do the names Severus Snape and Filius Flitwick mean anything to you?"**

Donnchadh shot a look at her when he heard those names. **"The Snape Line have been deemed Friends of Mann for the last eight generations. The great-many-times-grandmother of Severus Snape was visiting the Isle before the beginning of the schism as a trader. She protected the king at the time from an assassination attempt, risking her own life in the process. As a reward, all of her line was deemed friends of the Isle. However, when this country banned the comings and goings of our countrymen, they were condemned to remain here and not on the Isle in order for us to repay our debt to them.**

**"Filius Flitwick was born Faelchu Quicksilver. He was a duelist alongside your Aunt Morgana, but he is one of Sidhe blood. His parents are sworn members of the Seelie Court: his mother and father were hobgoblins both. He was your aunt's mentor, having already done one tour of service already by the time she joined the Armed Forces. Both of them completed fifteen years of service serving at each other's side. After thirty years of service all told, he disappeared and left no children to continue his line."** He cocked his head at her, one of his eyebrows raised. **"Why do you ask?"**

**"They are both my teachers. Snape is instructing the art of potion making. Flitwick, charms."** She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling the raised scars under her fingers. **"Is there any news from home?"** The blatant change of topic went by unremarked by Donnchadh.

**"The Seelie and Unseelie Courts renewed their oaths of continued loyalty yesterday, and the Queen reciprocated with our oaths. The King is getting close to breaking the curse over the dragons and wyverns. Then it will become a matter of making a truce with them once more."** Donnchadh ran a large hand over his head. **"The dullahans and the Cwn Annwn are adamantly staying under the geis of the dark ones. _She_ has made a couple of appearances, but they are protecting her well." ** Both of them went quiet for a moment.

**"Is there any word of Marcas? Of Niamh?"** At that, Donnchadh grinned.

**"Both of them are well, and looking forward to your return over the Yuletide break. Marcas is part of the royal guard now, stationed with the king in the city. He grumbled at first, for he loves being on the front line. Niamh is working with Conn on cracking the thrall on the dragons, and could not be happier.** **You know how he enjoys a good puzzle. If he breaks the thrall, then the dragons can return to our side.** **"**

**"So, they are both safe."**  Airmed breathed a sigh of relief. **"Thank you."** She hopped off of the bed, being careful not to put too much weight on her newly sprained ankle. **"I will see you next week, and I promise to be better prepared."** Both of them clasped forearms, and then Donnchadh left.

When Airmed walked back into the Great Hall, everyone bombarded her with questions, none of them noticing that their respective houses were losing points for it. She answered none of the incessant questions, but instead prepared a plate of food. It took all of the Heads of Houses to get the students under control and off to class. When the Great Hall was empty, she tucked in for some lunch.

It was odd, being in the Great Hall with no one else. Sound echoed far more, even with the gentle clanking of cutlery on plate. Airmed spoke not a word, instead just enjoying the silence. It was not often now that she had time solely to herself, to clear her mind of all thoughts. This certainly was a rare treat. But alas, such things never last as long as they should. She made her plate and the remnants of the meal vanish, before heading back up to the common room. No one noticed as she came in and headed up the stairs.

Instead of a hot bath, Airmed indulged in a shower to wash away the sweat. Her bandages got wet in the process, but she was going to have to change them anyways. The hot water and gentle soap made her wounds sting, but it was not as bad as the alcohol that she poured on her injuries when the shower was over. Tying her hair into a knot, Airmed headed over to her trunk. It was time for a bit of relaxation.

Down in the common room, Harry and Ron were playing at Exploding Snap instead of doing their Divination homework. Hermione was sitting at a table working on the new Arithmancy assignments that Professor Vector had given them over the weekend. Others were quietly sitting and resting. That was how they were able to hear it.

A mournful sound filled the air. It chilled the heart as its hollow and airy sounds floated around them. The tune was one that no one had heard before: it was like a funeral dirge, yet the sound was light on the ears. Hermione followed the sound up the stairs to the fifth year girls' dormitory and saw something bewildering.

Airmed, sitting on the windowsill, had a wooden flute perpendicular to her mouth and was gently playing at it. Her eyes were closed and her fingers moved at once slowly and rapidly along the pipe. Around her wrists and the ankle propped on the windowsill were snuggly-wrapped linen bandages.

The inquisitive prefect's eyes traveled to the desk: there were stacks of paper in a tiny neat script that she could not make out from where she was standing. There was an inkwell and quill also on the desk, but there was no sign that Airmed had been writing recently. Beside the stack of notes was a drum of some sorts: it was a piece of hide stretched over a circular wooden frame, with two struts tied behind it in an equal-armed cross to hold on and a stick of some kind to play with, she assumed.

Guessing that the consequences would be dire if the temperamental girl caught her, Hermione simply walked away. She never knew that Airmed knew that she was there. Soon after Hermione left, she stopped the song and meditated on the notes that she had just played. Those listening to it were correct in the assumption that it was a dirge, but it was more meaningful than just that. This song was for everyone that had been lost: brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, and children. It was for the cause of all of their sorrows: loss. There were far too many to bear alone. But bear it alone, she must.

She had no other choice.


End file.
